between you and i (there is an ocean)
by yangires
Summary: Kaneki Ken does not fall for Kamishiro Rize. Instead, he falls for Kirishima Touka. Life does not always have to become a tragedy. —AU—
1. ( sordid )

author's note;  
09/26/14 — Things I told myself I wouldn't do: Write Tokyo Ghoul fanfiction.

Things I have clearly done anyway: Write Tokyo Ghoul fanfiction.

I blame the soul crushing properties of chapter 143.

Either way, here we go! This will be a series of drabbles, one-sentence fics and one-shots, all placed within the same AUverse where Kaneki's life is decidedly less tragic. That is, an AU where TouKen will eventually be a thing and Kenki doesn't develop a crush on Kamishiro "Literal Man-Eater" Rize. If this idea has been done before... then I apologize and hope this spin will be sufficiently different.

Enjoy!

* * *

Like all good love stories, it begins in a quaint little coffee shop in an equally as quaint little corner of Tokyo.

(It's more of a sordid love affair, really.)

* * *

between you and i  
(there is an ocean)

* * *

(_ sordid _)

* * *

When she sees him for the first time, there are three things that immediately cross her mind.

_One_, that he's small and weak and perfect as an appetizer for one of their less benevolent regulars.

_Two_, that he's been staring at her with the same annoying look on his face for way too long.

And _three_—oh.

She turns on her heel and tries, with a new found sense of disgust, to pass on her duties to one of her co-workers. She does not have the time to deal with a human and his crush. She does not have the time to put on a kind face, her smile bright and warm, as he unintelligibly stutters through his order while his blond friend encourages him on. She does not have time for any of these things. But she has to make time for them, anyway.

The old manager has always had a sick sense of humor.

* * *

"Excuse me!" his friend says. Loudly. Annoyingly. He is truly an exercise in keeping a straight face. Much more so than other humans.

"Yes?" she replies with practiced ease, reaching for her notepad in one smooth movement. She doesn't even have her pen out properly before he starts blabbing on, shooting an order at her and asking his friend (C_rush Boy_, her mind oh-so-helpfully supplies) whether he wants something as well. To her relief, he doesn't.

Said relief is then quickly replaced by complete horror, when he then decides to ask: "Oh! What might your name be?"

Breathe in. Breathe out. The manager would not be very pleased with her if she scared off their human customers.

"Kirishima... Touka," she says. It feels a little bit like forcing concrete through her teeth.

"Kirishima-san, huh? How cute!" he says, shamelessly. Then, he turns towards Crush Boy. "What do you think, eh, Kaneki?"

Crush Boy (_Kaneki_) buries his face in his hands with something of a strangled yelp. She kind of wishes she could do the same.

* * *

Well. The next time he comes, it might not even be during her shift.

(It is.

And so is the next time.

And the one after that.

And so forth.)

* * *

_But_, she decides, _he will never be anything more than a human with a crush_.

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She's horrendously wrong.


	2. ( to this day )

author's note;  
09/27/14 — Oh, boy. I wasn't expecting so much support, so I'm even more excited now to continue with this story. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed/kudo'd/favorited/followed/what-have-you'd this story so far!

This is a pretty brief chapter, mostly so I can indicate the passing of time without going into much detail. The themes used are from the Gamma set at 1sentence on LiveJournal. Expect the third chapter to be up somewhere between later today or Monday, depending on how inspired I get.

* * *

**#01 - Ring  
**To this day, her parents's wedding rings still remain in her care—but only as a constant reminder of things (relationships and experiences and times long gone that) she will never be able to have.

* * *

( _to this day_ )

* * *

**#02 - Hero  
**"_Touka_-chan," Yoriko says, waving a hand in front of her face and snapping her out of her thoughts, before continuing on with: "Now isn't the time to daydream, we have to pick a heroic tale for our Classic Literature class!"

**#03 - Memory  
**Sometimes (more than sometimes), she wishes she could wipe certain events from her memory completely.

**#04 - Box  
**Whenever she sees a human carrying something that resembles of _those_, she finds herself quickening her pace until they are completely out of sight.

**#05 - Run  
**"Tch—I can't believe that old manager is making me run out to buy more coffee."

**#06 - Hurricane  
**Occasionally, she's heard humans comparing Ghouls to forces of nature not unlike hurricanes; she thinks the notion is absolutely ridiculous.

**#07 - Wings  
**The investigators call her Kagune an Ukaku (a _shimmering feather_), but the name makes it sound more beautiful than the weapon it really is.

**#08 - Cold  
**When the early autumn cold hits her, she realizes it's been a couple of days since she last saw that human with the crush — and then she swiftly squashes any type of feeling or emotion before it can root itself within her heart.

**#09 - Red  
**When she stumbles upon a pool of red and the unmistakable sound of someone having a feast deep within the alleyway, she keeps on walking; there is no need for her to intervene when there is no situation that requires it.

**#10 - Drink  
**A full week goes by, and his friend shows up at Anteiku once again, specifically asking for a drink with (quote and unquote) her cute latte art; there is no mention of his usual companion and she begins to wonder if one of their less benevolent regulars really did decide to use him as an appetizer.

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**#11 - Midnight  
**At midnight, she turns on the TV and catches a news report about an accident involving metal beams.


	3. ( continue )

author's note;  
09/28/14 — Third chapter! I'm trying to move this along at an acceptable pace... though now I've begun to wonder whether I'm being too slow. Thoughts on this?

* * *

That night, she catches a rebroadcast of today's (_yesterday's_) news.

_On the evening of the 3rd_, the reporter says, _a couple was caught in an accident when several metal beams fell from atop a nearby construction site. The young woman was confirmed dead upon arrival to the hospital, while the young man passed away hours later. The authorities will continue to look into the circumstances surrounding this event_.

By the time they get to the next segment, she's already turned off the TV and headed straight to bed.

* * *

( _continue_ )

* * *

When Kamishiro Rize stops coming to Anteiku and subsequently disappears from the 20th Ward, there's a collective sigh of relief all around.

When Kaneki Ken reappears after a week long absence, looking no less healthy and acting no less annoying, Touka briefly considers spitting on his order while nobody is looking.

* * *

"Hey, Kirishima-san!" his friend calls out to her, waving his arm at her as she approaches their table with two lattes in hand. "Did you know this hopeless guy forgot to do our assigned reading for Asian History because—"

"—Hide!" Crush Boy interrupts, staring at his companion with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. She does not have to hear the end of that sentence. Not really.

"_Anyway_," his friend continues, not in the least deterred by that outburst. "He spent a week cooped up in his place, reading the whole book. It was only one chapter! Can you believe this guy?"

"Haa... Is that right?" she asks, her voice saccharine sweet. "He should focus more on his studies, shouldn't he?"

Her words leave a foul taste in her mouth, but they seem to do the trick as she sets their orders down on the table. A moment later, Crush Boy begins to nurse the drink between his hands.

"Yeah, I know. That's just what I was telling him," his friend responds, gesticulating wildly. "Kaneki, my man, you're not going to get anywhere if you don't hit the books—like me!"

"H— Hide," crush boy says, lowering the cup and furrowing his brows. "No matter how you look at it, that's a lie."

"Oho! But it's what I _thought _about saying."

"That... doesn't really change a thing."

By the time she begins to tune them out in order to attend her other tables, the conversation has disintegrated into a childish and repetitive _does too_ and _does not_ argument.

When she swings by again, Crush Boy looks just as consternated as she left him—though now his friend seems to be more preoccupied with getting up from his chair while wiggling his eyebrows. She thinks she hears him whisper, all too conspicuously: "_It'll be a test of courage!_"

Mentally, she gives herself a pat in the back for being able to keep a smile on her face.

"See ya, Kirishima-san!" he says as he passes her by on his way towards the exit. "Kaneki here will be picking up the check."

She pretends not to see the rapid winking he does on his way out. Instead, she focuses on the remaining half of the atrocious duo.

"I'll just..." she begins, staring at his trembling hands and hearing every single breath he forces in and out through his nostrils. "I'll bring you the check, if that'll be all."

And she expects it to be. She hopes it will be. Keeping up this charade seriously tires her out.

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It's not.

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(Not by a long shot.)

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"W-Wait—um... Kirishima-san."

She stops after taking only two steps away from his table, and tilts her head slightly in order to look at him. "Yes...?"

"Are you... I mean... Do you..." he starts, vacillating between tones and crawling through each syllable with painful hesitance. She wishes, almost desperately, that he would get to the point so she could say _no_. Then, after a moment of awkward silence, he brings a hand up to his chin and gives her a small and shaky chuckle. "Actually... that won't be all. Could I have a cappuccino to go, please?"

She finds herself hesitating this time.

"Oh. Of course."

He really _does_ piss her off.

* * *

And even with Rize gone, she still left quite a mess for them to clean up. How very like her.


	4. ( shift )

author's note;  
09/30/14 — Surprise update! I had originally planned for this chapter to be way longer, but I decided to split it in several parts in order to sneak in an update today. Unfortunately, this also means there will be no Kaneki in this chapter. Bummer.

* * *

It was a perfectly lovely afternoon.

Or, it would have been, if not for—

"Ehh... But are you sure you're alright, Touka-chan?" Yoriko asks for what may very well be the nth time this day. Her concern would be extremely touching, if not for the fact that Touka feels just about ready to slam her bag on the ground and scream at the situation that was causing said concern in the first place.

"I'm _fine_, Yoriko," she responds, with a little more force than is strictly necessary. Adjusting the strap of her bag with her uninjured hand, she rolls her eyes at her best friend's antics. "More importantly, isn't your house the other way?"

Thoroughly unconvinced, Yoriko huffs and puffs and fixes her a look as stern as that of a newborn puppy. "But Touka-chan, you're—_ow_!"

Well. Flicking Yoriko on the forehead never quite gets old. Neither does watching her rub her forehead, trying to look mad and failing fantastically.

"I said I'm fine. Jeez..." she sighs, rubbing the back of her neck in an attempt to get rid of the tension building up between her shoulders. "Head on home. You know I have to work today."

And though Yoriko looks no more ready to leave her than she did half a minute ago, there's a small shift in her body language.

"...Alright," she says, after a brief pause. "But I want you to call me as soon as you get home tonight. And—you have to promise that tomorrow, you'll eat the lunch I bring you! A growing girl like you needs more than jam sandwiches to heal, Touka-chan!"

Though her stomach churns uncomfortably at the thought of eating Yoriko's much too refined cooking, Touka finds herself smiling and waving goodbye at her friend as she retreats. "Yeah, yeah... Just go!"

And then, Yoriko is gone.

It's only then, when her friend is out of sight and there is nothing for her to focus on but the throbbing of her limbs and the haphazardly arranged plasters around her right arm, left shoulder and legs, that she allows her posture to unravel. Not even a week since Rize's disappearance, and territorial disputes have already gotten way out of hand.

That damned Nishiki.

* * *

( _shift_ )

* * *

Of course, not everything that afternoon has to be unpleasant.

(But everything has the potential to be unpleasant.)

When she's seconds away from Anteiku, limbs aching and pride slightly wounded, she happens upon some old acquaintances.

"Ah—Ryoko-san?"

Almost simultaneously, both mother and daughter ghoul turn around to face her. Once recognition settles in, Hinami loosens her hold on her mother's skirt in other to greet her with a smile. If only she weren't so intimidated by the pedestrians making their way up and down town around them, however.

"Oh, Touka-chan. Hello," Ryouko says, her hand moving to touch her bottom lip. "Are you coming in to work today?"

"Yeah," she responds, moving past them and towards Anteiku's front doors. One, two, _three_ long steps—and she's holding the door open for both of them. "I am. Even though I have exams coming up, that manager is still making me work."

Somehow, she makes the words _that manager_ sound like an elaborate curse. She feels almost proud of herself.

"So that's how it is... Did he know you have exams to study for?" Ryouko replies, a sympathetic smile on her lips as she ushers Hinami inside with her. She thinks she sees her mouth a small _thank you_ as they successfully enter the shop and she closes the door behind her.

"He did. But," she begins, "we're a bit short on staff, so it can't really be helped. The others have to manage the storefront."

It almost makes her wish for new co-workers.

Except the thought of having to train them makes that wish evaporate instantaneously.

"I see," Ryouko tells her, after a beat. "Well... I think it's good you're able to do something to help, Touka-chan. If only I..."

Her statement does not end there. But she does not finish it. The gap it leaves in their conversation is both uncomfortable and stifling.

So she breaks it. Or tries to.

"The manager should be waiting for you on the second floor," she says, her tone soft and pleasant despite the lump that has suddenly formed smack dab in the middle of her throat. "You can go on up."

And when they do, all she can think of is that they don't deserve the lifestyle of a ghoul.

* * *

And  
days later,  
something in the stability of the 20th Ward  
changed for good.


	5. ( no further )

author's note;  
10/01/14 — Someone please find Kaneki Ken. He's been human-zoned for the past two chapters.  


* * *

"Hinami."

It's a tired and lonely voice.

"Please, come out."

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"No! I want to see Father!"

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"Hinami, please... I miss him, too, but..."

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There's no further response from the other side of the door.

* * *

( _no further_ )

* * *

Of course, when Yoshimura asked her to come in to work it wasn't only because he needed an additional waitress.

It was because they were running low on meat.

* * *

The car ride is comfortably silent. No words are exchanged between the two of them. Only brief glances full of mutual understanding—which is perfectly fine by her. Queasiness and motion sickness aside, it gives her the chance to review part of her Classic Literature exam. And even if nothing about this fits with her ideal studying environment, she'll take it.

The silence continues even after they've gotten to the location. They take a quick look inside the vehicle parked near the railing, a cursory glance down the cliffside, and then they're making their way down in order to get to business. She knows what to do and so does Yomo. There is no need for awkward explanations or instructions. She takes the bag. He takes the equipment. They supply Anteiku with meat. That's all.

So it's a bit of a surprise when the silence is eventually broken by Yomo himself.

"Touka. Don't react negatively to this," he says with such spontaneity that her body reacts before her mind can properly process the fact he spoke at all. "But the Doves have come to the 20th Ward."

"_What_?" she hears her mouth say, brain not quite up to speed with the rest of her being. Reason then kicks in and she's gritting her teeth and jumping to conclusions. "Shit. That fucking Rize, she—"

"It wasn't Rize that enticed them to come here."

That stops her.

It feels a little like having a bucket of cold water tipped over her head.

"Then," she begins, licking her lips and furrowing her brows. She tries to ignore the way her heart was now slamming itself against her chest, mind racing back and forth between possible alternatives. "Who made those bastards come here? Did someone sell us out?"

"No," Yomo says, "They're after Fueguchi-san."

For a moment, it feels like everything stops.

Then the sickly sweet smell of blood invades her senses once again. The piece of human meat in her hand feels colder to the touch than it really is. The silence that ensues almost deafens her.

She thinks someone must have punched her in the abdomen—but that wasn't possible. There was nobody around besides Yomo.

Touka takes a deep breath and tries to steady her voice. "Why?"

She receives no response and the silence becomes nearly palpable. Shit.

When she convinces her lungs to cooperate with her in order to keep her breathing from becoming ragged, she tries another approach. "Does she know?"

She thinks he nods; small and nearly imperceptible, but a nod nonetheless.

"She does."

So she closes her eyes and continues to shove the pieces of meat she's handed into the bag. There are others like Ryouko and Hinami who depend on them to bring them a meal, after all.

* * *

That night, the words on her notebook become a muddled and incomprehensible mess. Letters mix with spaces and numbers and she finds herself rubbing her eyes over and over again to no avail. No matter how much she squints and sighs and revisits the text, nothing makes sense to her. Everything is strange. Everything is wrong. Everything is making her sick.

She gets up from her desk and serves herself a cup of coffee.

The Doves have come to the 20th Ward.

The Doves are looking for Ryouko.

The Doves could be looking for Hinami, too.

(_Ryouko is going to be killed_,  
a small and traitorous voice  
whispers within her mind.)

When she comes to, there are ceramic shards lodged in the palm of her hand and a puddle of warm coffee at her feet.

She decides to go to bed early.

* * *

When she bombs her Classic Literature exam, it's not for a lack of trying.

(When she finds Hinami alone at Anteiku, hands balled into fists and voice shaking with justified concern, _it is_.)


	6. ( forced )

author's note;  
10/11/14 — Tokyo Ghoul:re _and_ season 2 in January. I don't know what I'm feeling right now, but INCREDIBLY HYPED is probably a way to describe it.

In any case, midterms monopolized my free time for a week or so. Here is an extra long chapter in order to compensate for that. If you spot any mistakes, let me know so I can fix them!

* * *

There are no laws that protect the lives of those individuals known as _ghouls_.

(Or, five events that take place directly after Fueguchi Ryouko's forced disappearance.

And one that's just a little bit further away.)

* * *

( _forced_ )

* * *

i.

* * *

When Touka's feet automatically guide her to Anteiku after school, she finds the blinds drawn and the _closed_ sign carefully placed next to the front door.

Today wasn't a day off. If it was, the manager would have surely mentioned something to her before she left for home yesterday. Yoshimura was old, _sure_, but he was not senile in any sense of the word. The last time Anteiku had closed its doors for the day without any previous notice had been when—

(—_don't think about it_.)

The door is unlocked. Guided by nothing but pure dread, she darts in and runs up the stairs, completely ignoring Yoshimura's presence behind the bar. Yomo's words play over and over within her head and continue to do so when she walks into the room upstairs and finds it full of pale and resigned faces. She feels someone's hand touch her shoulder at the same time she spots Hinami curled up in the seat farthest from the entrance, eyes rimmed with red and body trembling with a multitude of fears and anxieties. When their eyes meet, Touka finds herself rooted to the ground.

"...Where's Ryouko-san?" she asks, not daring to divert her gaze from Hinami's.

"Mother left yesterday," Hinami tells her, voice soft and nearly evanescent. Despite this, every word feels like a harsh and discordant note to Touka's ears. "But... she never came back."

Briefly (or not so briefly), Touka's vision shakes and blurs together. Her knees buckle and it suddenly becomes hard to breathe, almost as if she were suffering from an inexplicable heat-haze. When the hand on her shoulder tightens its grip ever so slightly and drags her back to reality, she becomes keenly aware that the manager had followed her upstairs after she had rushed in. She's irrationally fond of his hand on her shoulder. It's a very nice hand. It keeps her from completely losing it in front of Hinami.

_But _it's not enough to keep her from thinking of unpleasant things. Her imagination does not need much incentive to run amok, and it immediately begins conjuring up vivid images of Ryouko's lifeless body, battered and bruised while those bastards congratulate themselves over another job well done. She forces her lungs to cooperate, stubbornly ignoring the unpleasant knot in her chest. Then, she glances around the room.

Unsurprisingly, Irimi and Koma do a fine job avoiding her gaze. Yomo doesn't even _bother_ to look up, all too content with staring at the floor as if it were more interesting than the conversation currently taking place. Yoshimura must have already spoken to them.

"Why," she begins, "aren't we looking for Ryouko-san? If we look for her now, it might not be too—"

She doesn't get to finish her statement. She doesn't get to say _it might not be_ _too late_. Not when Yoshimura squeezes her shoulder, prompting her to meet his eyes. In them, she finds nothing but pity. It makes her blood boil more than anything else. "Touka-chan," he tells her slowly, as if feeding a small child bite sized pieces of information for their own benefit. "This has been discussed with everyone in this room. Even Hinami-chan understands."

_Even Hinami._ The powerful implications hidden behind those two simple words are not wasted on her.

"...Is that so?" she finds herself asking, eyes narrowing into slits. Even though every single inch of her body is screaming for her to lash out, her tone is as cold as ice. "We're leaving her for dead? Just like that? Don't fuck around. That's—"

"Touka," Yomo interjects, almost echoing Yoshimura's tone. She's already become quite tired of the condescension buried deep within it. "You know better than anyone what happens when a ghoul... doesn't return. Fueguchi-san enticed the Doves to come here and was discovered. Don't waste your time."

She does know. Yomo doesn't have to remind her. Nobody has to, really. She will always remember those sleepless nights spent huddled up in a corner of her old home, holding her younger brother's hand and whispering false reassurances that comforted no one. She does not need to be told something has happened to Ryouko to know it's true. No loving parent, human or ghoul, would leave their child alone like this if they could help it.

But she does not want Hinami to experience the loss of both mother and father the same way she did. She's tired of watching everyone die.

She rips Yoshimura's hand away from her shoulder.

"Tch... To help ghouls—that's Anteiku's purpose, isn't it?" she scoffs while glaring at every adult in the room. "And yet you're going to suck your thumb and let the Doves get away with this? You're all disgusting."

"Touka-chan," Yoshimura responds. His tone is filled with both pity and scorn. "You must understand. We mustn't—"

"No," she cuts him off, taking a step back and towards the door. "I don't understand, and I don't _want_ to understand if it means being a pathetic coward. I'm out of here."

She wishes Hinami wouldn't have to see her like this, but there's no helping that. Someone has to do it. If nobody else will take care of things, then it's up to her to destroy Ryouko's enemies.

She turns her back to the people in this room.

Slamming the door shut behind her, however, does not feel as pleasant as she hoped it would.

* * *

ii.

* * *

Finding out who the CCG has working for them in the 20th Ward isn't easy. There are way too many humans coming in and out of the building, all dressed in immaculate suits and armed to the teeth with a shared hatred for the existence of those known as ghouls—but she somehow manages it. And she honestly comes to respect Yomo a little bit more at the end of it, after the nth time she has to convince herself that simply waltzing into the building with no plan or guarantee would be the worst idea she's had in a while. Examining the wanted posters with a critical eye is risky enough when she takes little precaution to hide her true identity, after all.

Still, it's something to consider for later. _Maybe_.

What matters now, in any case, is that she's supposedly succeeded at her task. Information is a precious thing between ghouls and exchanging it for something equally as precious is no walk in the park. Thankfully, being a highly persuasive person has always been one of her strong points.

(Her fists do all the talking for her. It's something of a gift.)

_There was a commotion near a popular bookstore_, is the first thing she learns.

_It's been a few days since then_, is the second.

_It seems_, comes the third bit of information, _one of those human loving idiots got themselves_—

She didn't need that kind of information.

The source didn't need their head attached to their body, either.

By the fourth and fifth piece of information, there are several pictures stored in her phone and she has two faces to match with the words _ghoul investigator_.

Whether they are the right ones or not is a matter of perspective.

* * *

iii.

* * *

Her mask sits atop her bedside table. It has remained untouched for days upon weeks upon _months_. That is about to change.

In the back of her closet, there is also one (1) red wig. She now knows what to do with it.

* * *

iv.

* * *

Near the CCG building, there is a board dedicated solely to displaying wanted posters. The ghouls known as _Gourmet_ and _Binge Eater_ are the usual subjects of said posters. But, recently, there's been a new addition.

_Clover_ is what they call her. There is no face nor physical description to accompany the data displayed on her respective poster, but what little information there is is clear enough. _This ghoul_, it says, _is suspected to have the appearance of a child. It may be wearing clothing similar to that displayed in Figure 1.1._

Figure 1.1, in this case, being a simple outfit strikingly similar to one Hinami's parents had bought her almost six months ago. Two months later, the CCG raided her house while she was away with her mother and nobody has seen her wear the outfit since.

The poster goes missing somewhere between 7PM and 10PM.

Security footage only picks up an indistinguishable figure dressed in black.

The middle finger it points towards the camera, on the other hand, is _very_ distinguishable.

* * *

v.

* * *

And just before she swoops in to take the lives of Ryouko's enemies, she finds herself thinking about all sort of nonsensical things.

She thinks about her father and how he strove to protect her from the cruelty of the world. His kindness is what got him killed.

She thinks about Ayato, who is long gone and nothing but a recurrent thought in the back of her mind. She has not heard any other rumors about a young ghoul causing a stir in other wards.

The most illogical thought comes in the form of that human. She had deemed him _Crush Boy_ in an attempt to distance herself from his very existence. It was a botched up effort to disassociate herself from his overly bizarre tendency to stare at her in awe, as if she were someone who could provoke such an emotion. She has no idea why she thinks of him now, however brief and fleeting her thoughts may be.

But she supposes that she's wondering what a human like him would think about all of this. A human who has never faced the hardships of being a ghoul. One who can enjoy a normal meal with friends and who has never experienced the tragedy of losing both parents to those who consider themselves agents of justice.

She wonders if he would think she's doing the right thing.

(_Maybe she's wrong._)

She descends from her spot atop a nameless building.

When she takes the life of the first investigator, she realizes that is what she's fighting for.

As long as she fights, she would not be condemned.

As long as she fights, she would be able to keep her balance on the tightrope.

She would not fall. She would not crash. She would not lose the happiness she's worked so hard to maintain until now.

And she would help Hinami do the same.

* * *

null.

* * *

Even though she knew the basic concept of it, she had never seen what was stored within those suitcases the Doves lugged around.

She wanted to keep it that way. She almost did, too.

(Her arm hurts a lot and she pretends Yoshimura doesn't know what she's _done_—but it could be worse.

It could.

She muffles her strangled screams with a towel between her teeth and patches herself up as she's done several times before. She is alone. If she's killed, it will be her responsibility.

There is no one around to assure her they would be sad if she died.)


	7. ( turn back time )

10/16/14 — As always, thank you all your your kudos/favorites/follows/bookmarks/reviews/etc.! Don't be afraid to point out what you think about this chapter as well, especially if it has to do with a mistake you spot... and doubly so if it's about something you like. Heaven knows I need to find myself a beta reader.

ALSO, I'll admit I was very tempted to stick the juicy bits into this chapter. _So tempted._ You'll see what I mean once you get to the last line of this chapter. ;)

* * *

(But, in all honesty,  
a love story just isn't that much of a love story  
without its cliches.

So let us turn back time for exposition's sake.)

* * *

( _turn back time_ )

* * *

The men below her are having a pleasant conversation.

She does not care to understand nor listen to what they are saying.

What she _does_ care for is the sickening squelch the younger investigator's body makes as it comes apart oh so very easily, skin and bone parting and rushing to meet the ground in less than two seconds. His companion fails to notice what has happened until there is a pool of blood at his feet. By then, her body is already in motion. She is ready to eradicate Ryouko's enemies from the face of the Earth. She is righting a wrong.

This does not happen.

She fails to notice the third investigator. Her sources had not mentioned him during her investigation.

Skidding across the pavement and nearly losing her balance in the process, she quickly regains her momentum in order to continue with her assault. Determining the third investigator to be the biggest threat, she rushes to meet him. A kick, a jump and a punch—and her body collides with his, leaving a gash on the right side of his face. Her body is a flurry of movements and he is no match for her. Not like this. Not when he is so obviously unarmed.

An unarmed human is no match for a ghoul's strength.

An armed human, however, is a completely different story.

She's face down on the ground, right arm throbbing in pain and head reeling by the time she's realized what has happened. A _fourth_ investigator has shown up, adequately armed and ready to fight against a ghoul of her caliber.

He's scolding his co-workers. That much she can tell. However, his exact words are lost in a haze of pain and adrenaline. She needs to get up. She needs to fight. She didn't come all this way in order to die. Not like this. Not without getting rid of Ryouko's enemies. That would be too (_lonely_) pathetic.

She manages to pull herself off the ground a second before that _thing_ can crush her into itty-bitty pieces.

"Oh!" the fourth investigator exclaims, dragging his weapon behind him. The look of absolute delight that crosses his face is not lost on her. "How spectacular. It's been a long time since I've met someone who can dodge this!"

_This_ being that thing that resembles the unholy offspring of a whip and a scorpion's tail. She does not know what to make of it, but she does not have to be a genius in order to figure out it's what the Doves carry within their briefcases. As if begging for an audience, the fourth investigator continues to ramble on, tone laced with glee and excitement over finding what he may or may not consider an ant to crush underneath his boot. Her stomach churns in disgust and she's all too ready to tune him out in order to think of a way to beat the hell out of him, but her train of thought is cut short by his following words.

"Ah. Come to think of it... that ghoul wife I killed some days ago was pretty weak, wasn't she? She didn't put up a good fight," he says, a lopsided grin on his face as he reaches into the inside of his coat. A second later, he takes out a flat and rectangular object and tosses it her way. "And all she did was try to protect _this_. It was pretty hilarious!"

At her feet, stained with blood and covered in filth, laid the cover of The Black Goat's Egg.

So much for _thinking_ about how to beat the hell out of him.

Driven by nothing but pure rage, she ignores how outmatched she is and charges at the bastard in front of her. Punches are thrown and her kagune burns from the intensity of her actions, but no matter what she does, nothing seems to hit him. The only thing she's doing is tiring herself out—and she's sure he knows it judging by the smirk on his face and the much-too-technical explanation he's giving her. She does not give a damn about the way her kagune works. She is not capable of giving a single _fuck _about the shit this decrypt old man was spewing. She does not care about anything but smashing her fist into his face and making his skull concave.

But that's not to be. Not when she's so out of focus, every inch of her body humming with adrenaline that's soon to sputter out. She doesn't even get to land a single hit before he slams that weapon against her side, knocking her down and effectively forcing her to use the last bit of her energy in an attempt to keep him from snapping her in two.

She wheezes.

The fucker laughs.

"What? It's already over?" he asks, a grin plastered on his face and his tone light. Her suffering must be highly entertaining for him. "I guess I shouldn't expect much from trash like you. You ghouls can only put up so much of a fight before you're inevitably _erased_. "

Touka's anger resurfaces, boiling beneath her skin and threatening to seep out through her pores. She grits her teeth, hoisting herself to her feet with a shaky and suffering breath. The investigator readies his weapon, undoubtedly preparing to strike her down once and for all.

She's not very eager to give him that chance.

And so, she escapes with her jaw clenched and a metaphorical tail between her legs. She's had better days, that's for sure.

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She feels very much like a coward.

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But she is not ready to die.

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(Not yet, anyway.  
_Not before she can find_—)

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(It shouldn't matter to her anymore. The past should stay in the past.)

* * *

Between her arm and her pride, she isn't sure what's more critically wounded.

But she can't say she expected to get away unscathed. She knew the consequences of openly challenging the Doves very well. Any ghoul with half a brain knows. She is not nearly young and reckless enough to think her actions have no repercussions. She supposes the quiet but scathing look of disapproval Yoshimura keeps giving her forms part of those repercussions.

Catching a glimpse of Hinami in the room upstairs, huddled up under a thick blanket and reading a book by an author called Takatsuki Sen may be another one of those repercussions. It's not a coincidence, she thinks, that the cover that was tossed her way the other night carried the same name below the title. Ryouko must have gone out to buy Hinami a new book that day, and then—she never came back.

It was a gift she would never be able to deliver now. It makes Touka almost regret not picking the cover up from the ground, but Hinami probably wouldn't appreciate seeing her mother's last gift to her torn and sullied.

She closes her eyes and forces herself to stop thinking about it before her rage can turn to despair and despair can turn to nausea.

* * *

Try as she might to stop thinking about it, however, her attempts end up being for naught. Insomnia gets a hold of her during the wee hours of the morning and her thoughts become consumed by feelings of guilt. She should have done something to help Ryouko. She should have told her to get out of the 20th Ward the moment she was told why the Doves were here. Even she could have done that much before things went downhill like this.

Taking care of a mess that's already been made is never pleasant. Much less so, when the mess involves the death of someone who used to be a dear friend.

(And also someone she looked up to in a certain sense. But, of course, she would never admit to this. It was too embarrassing.)

Instead of recklessly endangering her life again, she somehow ends up at a local bookstore.

Hinami would want to read that novel if it was something Ryouko picked out for her.

Ignoring the incessant throbbing of her still healing right arm, she carefully browses the shelves one by one Neatly stacked and ordered before her are rows and rows of thick novels, neatly wrapped up in protective plastic and decorated with incomprehensible covers and even _more_ incomprehensible titles. She's not sure if the author's family name was Akatsuki or Takatsuki and, honestly, she's beginning to regret coming here without having made sure she remembered the details correctly. While the heat of the moment made it impossible for her to remember everything that happened that night, she wasn't entirely sure she could trust herself to remember the title accurately.

She was having trouble enough with the author's name, after all.

Still, she wasn't quite ready to leave the store without buying _something _for Hinami. Though it certainly wouldn't do much to help her sleeping habits as of late, having a new book would probably help ease her mind. If only a little. It's the least Touka could do, after failing to take down the Doves that killed her mother.

Sighing in an attempt to get rid of the heaviness within her chest, she continues to browse the shelves. This would be a lot more easier if she knew the genre of the book she was looking for, or maybe—

(Someone bumps into her right arm, and  
_it hurts more than she thought was possible._)

She's on the ground before she can get a hold of herself, left hand clutching her injured arm and jaw clenched in an attempt to stifle a yelp. It works to a certain extent, but it does little to keep the person that bumped into her from fretting, their worried hands hovering inches from her shoulders as they decide to join her on the ground.

"A-Ah! I'm sorry! I..." the person begins, tone laced with hysteria before they trail off just as quickly as they begun. In the back of her mind, the voice strikes Touka as somewhat familiar. "...Kirishima-san?"

She looks up at that exact moment.

Quite suddenly, she finds herself staring at Crush Boy's worried face.


	8. ( chivalry )

author's note;  
01/11/14 — I have formed a nasty habit and it is called splitting chapters in half. If I ended things where I planned to actually end them... we would only be on chapter 5. Oh, golly.

That said, happy November 1st! As always, feel free to point out any mistakes you pick up as well as any particular lines you're fond of. Both make my day a little brighter.

* * *

"...Kirishima-san?" he asks, hands hovering inches away from her shoulders and brows knit in concern. His eyes, she thinks, are a tad too wide for his face. Or maybe it's just the fact he looks a little bit like a deer caught in headlights, frozen for a handful of seconds before the surprise wears out and reality sinks in. "Wait — No, more importantly... I must have knocked you down. Are you alright?"

For a moment, the only thing she wants to do is laugh. Her voice is caught in her throat and the absurdity of the situation makes reality feel less like fact and more like fiction. He didn't knock her down. The thought of a ghoul being knocked down by a flabby human being is too mortifying to even consider. All he did was _gently_ bump into her right arm, his elbow grazing the wound that decrepit old asshole had given her. The pain resulting from said _gentle _bump, on the other hand, had been nothing short of excruciating.

But—oh. Crush Boy is waiting for a response.

She coaxes her voice out of her throat and forgets about the warmth spreading across the palm of her left hand.

"Ah... I'm fine," she lies through her teeth. She wants to snap at him for asking such an obvious question (because, _really_), but she holds her tongue. He's just a customer. Practically a stranger. Snapping at him would serve no purpose. Though it could make her feel better for a while, it would only cause her trouble in the long run.

Still, Crush Boy seems to mull over her answer far longer than is strictly necessary. Just when she thinks his brain must have disintegrated into a puddle of goo, he gives her a weak chuckle and retracts his hands. "Well... If you say so, Kirishima-san," he responds, brows still knit together and lips set into an uneasy smile. She suspects he does not believe her at all. "Let me help you up."

He lifts himself from the ground as he says this, wiping both of his hands on his pants and then holding them out to her. She stares at them for a moment, examines her options, and then clicks her tongue. "...I can stand up on my own."

His chivalry is wasted on her. She refuses to involve herself with more humans than is strictly necessary. Maintaining the lifestyle of a normal high school student is hard enough without any added concerns. She slowly stands up and focuses on the speckles and pebbles on her knees instead of the look on his face. Careful not to upset her wound any further, she tries to brush the dirt off her legs with her hands.

She hears him suck in a breath at the same time she notices she's smearing blood on her left knee.

* * *

( _chivalry_ )

* * *

She had wanted to avoid causing a commotion.

Alas, brushing past him and rushing out of the store without saying a word is _exactly_ the sort of thing that would cause a commotion.

(She's not impulsive. She really isn't.

But her reactions materialize faster than her thoughts.)

She weaves through the crowd, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jacket and carefully avoiding brushing against anything or any_one_ that would further irritate her wound. The color of her jacket is dark enough to mask the blood seeping through the bandages, but not nearly dark enough to conceal the ever growing wet spot on her sleeve. Thought she doubts anyone would flag her down at this busy hour in order to ask how that spot had gotten there, she needs to hurry home. She needs to change her bandages and pretend this never happened. Maybe (just a hopeful maybe), she managed to spook Crush Boy away with that scene she caused back there. That would be nice. It would be one less thing to worry about. She could deal with losing a regular at the coffee shop.

Now—if only that regular could deal with losing _her_.

(He's chasing after her, she realizes.)

"Hold on!" he shouts, sounding more out of breath than anyone she's ever heard before. Looks like she was right about him being small and weak. "Kirishima-san!"

Of course, she has no intention of waiting for him. Or anyone else for that matter. Her arm is throbbing and sprinting at a human's pace is way too tedious, but she needs to keep going. He's only a couple of paces away from her. With any luck, he wouldn't catch up to her. With any luck, he—

_He—_

He catches up to her.

It's embarrassingly cliché.

Grabbing her uninjured arm and holding onto it with a surprisingly strong grip, Touka is forced to stop as she hears him pant and wheeze behind her. She refuses to turn around and look at him. She also refuses to consider why he didn't go for her injured arm, seeing as how it was closer to him than the one he reached for.

"H— Hold on," he repeats with a wheeze. His sweaty palm radiates enough heat to seep through her clothes and into her skin despite the early winter chill surrounding them. "I... I'm sorry. I was surprised. H-Honestly, I didn't mean to scare you."

Scare her. _Him_. He thought he scared her. She isn't sure if she should feel insulted or amused by the concept.

So she chooses not to respond.

And when he realizes she's not going to run away if he lets her go, he drops her arm and coughs. He might have covered his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater; it sounds somewhat muffled. "Kirishima-san," he says, now having regained his ability to speak without wheezing through every other word. There's a degree of decisiveness in his voice, but she cannot figure what he's decided on. "I know you must have already noticed this, but... you're bleeding."

"_So_?" she hears herself say, tone laced with unnecessary vitriol.

Crush Boy must have been a caught off guard by this, because he hesitates for a moment or two before continuing. It's his fault for stating the obvious, anyway. "Ah... um... This isn't my business, and you probably think I'm being nosy," he begins, "But you need to have that treated. If you're scared of going alone, then I could accompany you to the hos—"

She cuts him off before he can even finish that ridiculous statement, turning on her heel and letting him stare at her blood stained clothing. He could keep gawking for all she cared.

"—To the hospital? Is that what you were going to say?" she spits, already fed up with his attitude. For someone who's name she could not bring herself to use, his existence was rapidly becoming a thorn on her side. "You already said it. It's none of your damn business, so stop trying to be my friend."

His eyes widen ever so slightly, lips pressed together as her words sink in. Then, after a handful of seconds in which she thinks she's finally scared him off, he shakes his head at her. "Even so... I can't just leave you like this. Not when you're injured," he says, voice soft and tone gentle. He's pleading with her. "It wouldn't be right. Please, let me help you."

She inhales, the chilly air stinging the tip of her nose and burning her lungs. She holds her breath as she stares at him. She becomes convinced he is trying to pull her leg. He can't mean that. He barely knows her.

When she exhales, she realizes a person this foolish is real.

"...Are you trying to be the moral person right now?" she quietly responds. She can feel the fight leaving her bones, dripping down her skin and forming a hopeless puddle at their feet. "It's irritating."

The look on Crush Boy's face softens. She is not fond of it. Not at all.

"That's not it," he tells her. "But if you won't go to the hospital, will you let me treat your wound?"

_No_, her mind supplies, vehemently.

"If I say yes, will you fuck off?" her mouth asks, the traitorous thing.

"Yes," he responds.

* * *

And that is how she ends up in a boy's apartment at 4:58PM on a weekday.


	9. ( fumble )

author's note;  
10/17/14 — Whoops! It's been a while since the last update. I blame college for keeping me horrendously busy. :(

Special thanks to insomniacClarinetist for being such a fabulous beta.

* * *

Despite not being entirely sure of what, exactly, to expect, her arrival at Crush Boy's apartment still feels somewhat anti-climatic.

They walk together for thirty minutes until reaching a nondescript apartment complex. Once there, he leads her past one sign boasting affordable rent for college students, guides her up two sets of stairs and signals her to stop at the third floor. She takes one look at the rickety front door, watches him fumble with his keys until he finds the right one, and comes to the conclusion that, _yes_, this is a tremendously bad idea.

* * *

( _fumble_ )

* * *

Surprisingly, she finds the inside of his apartment to be slightly less unfortunate looking than the outside.

Crush Boy enters before her, turning on the lights and holding the door open for her. They remove their shoes at the genkan before stepping into the bedroom-cum-living room-cum-kitchen, where she proceeds to give her surroundings a cursory glance. Her own living arrangements are decidedly bigger (mostly due to the manager's charitable nature; partly due to the fact it was meant to house _two_), but—it's not an entirely unpleasant place. It's the type of place where she could picture someone like Crush Boy living.

The wooden floorboards creak ever-so-slightly as she follows him. His shoulders seem suddenly tense and the furniture is a little sparse, but she manages to keep her mind away from the elephant in the room as they come to a stop near a slightly rusting refrigerator. "Um... Kirishima-san," Crush Boy says, breaking the silence between them but not quite facing her. "You can sit anywhere you like. There are some magazines on the table and—and I'll go search for the first aid kit in the bathroom."

Vaguely, she wonders why a single college student would even _need_ a first aid kit. That thought only lasts up to three seconds before it's unceremoniously replaced by the realization she has been stubbornly avoiding up until now; Crush Boy lives alone. She's currently standing in the apartment of a single, young human male. She followed him home out of her own volition.

She suddenly feels out of place, but not in the same way she does when she visits Yoriko's house.

She clears her throat and pulls the zipper of her rabbit themed jacket up even further. "I'll be here."

Regaining _some_ of the bravado he had back near the bookstore, Crush Boy tilts his head towards her and gives her a smile full of shattered nerves. Touka does not return the gesture.

She waits until he's left the room to let out a breath she had been holding. _This_, no matter how she looks at it, is a bad idea. Not running away from him when he let go of her arm back there was a big enough mistake as it is. Following him home and actually entering his apartment is just asking for something terrible to happen. Even if he seems to be weak and scrawny, there's no way for her to know what goes through his head. She's had enough encounters with unsavory individuals to know that ghouls aren't the only dangerous beings out there.

In the worst-case scenario, there will be a body to dispose of.

In the best-case scenario—something will change. But she isn't sure of what it is.

She allows herself to plop down on the edge of his bed after a long moment of hesitation. From there, she examines the scratched up table two feet before her. There is a plastic soda cap shoved under one of the legs and a multitude of magazines and fliers littered across it. She figures, absentmindedly, that it must be pretty old judging from how it wobbles when she prods it with the tip of her shoe.

Leaning forward, she sorts through the mess before her. There are some academic magazines, some shopping catalogs and some take-out fliers—but nothing out of the ordinary. It's more or less on par with what you'd expect from your average human, so she prepares to stop rifling through his belongings and lean back into the lumpy comfort the mattress offers her.

She would have totally done it, too, if not for catching a glimpse of a CCG brochure buried under the pile of magazines and fliers.

Crush Boy returns from the depths of his bathroom before she can properly react.

"Sorry for making you wait," he says, carrying a small plastic box while remaining completely oblivious to her plight. "I thought I placed it in the cabinet, but—"

He stops short as soon as he meets her eyes.

Belatedly, she notices she must look rather pale.

"Are… Are you alright?" he asks, before hesitantly closing the distance between them and setting the plastic box on the tablet. "You're not feeling dizzy, are you?"

_Dizzy_ is one way to describe it. _Completely and utterly ill_ is another, but not one she can be honest about. Covering her mouth with her left hand, she tries to avoid looking at the brochure on the table. Knowing it was there was enough to make her want to bolt out of here as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, running away while he's in the room isn't the most conspicuous of options. "I'm..." she begins, voice unusually quiet. "I'm feeling a little light-headed, actually."

Crush Boy pauses. She does not dare look at his face, out of some irrational fear he'll know what she saw and why it made her so uneasy.

"I'll get you a glass of water," he responds. "Do you want something to eat? It might be for the best if you lay down, too..."

She shakes her head. Lying down is the last thing she needs to do with _that_ in front of her. "No, I'm okay. You don't have to," she says. Then, she thinks better of it. "... I'll have a cup of coffee, though. Black. It'll—help me feel better."

It's a half-truth, created with the purpose of distracting him. She meets his eyes after the words have left her mouth and finds that he nods in compliance.

She buries the brochure under a magazine once he's turned his back to her.

* * *

"Are you feeling better?" Crush Boy asks her once she's guzzled down half of the cup he prepared for her, sitting on the floor out of a refusal to sit next to her on the bed. "Err... It's not as good as Anteiku's, but it was the only brand I had."

She exhales through her nose. It's the worst coffee she's tasted in years. It also bought her enough time to collect herself. "It's fine. You shouldn't worry too much about it."

"Really?" he says, eyes widening slightly and voice tinged with surprise. "You work at a cafe, so you should know more about coffee than I do. Is it really fine?"

"I already told you, it's _fine_," she insists before taking one last sip out of her cup. "If you keep questioning it, it'll get annoying. So shut up and accept a compliment when you get it."

She thinks the look on his face makes it seem a little like he wishes he could take back the last fifteen seconds of his life.

Regardless, she shoves the now empty cup into his hand before he can think of a way to continue with this line of conversation. The CCG brochure is out of sight, but in no way out of mind, and she honestly wants to get out of this place as soon as possible.

"You said you wanted to treat my wound," she tells him. "Well? Get on with it. Unless you plan to keep me here all day."

He sputters, something unintelligible coming out of his mouth, before he sets the cup on the table right next to the plastic box. The table wobbles as he gets on his knees, places a hand on it and opens the box. She focuses on everything but the possibility of being inside a future CCG recruit's home. It's always, always, _always_ the last ones you'd expect that turn around and stab you in the back, after all.

"I'll… um... need to see your arm, Kirishima-san," he says, brandishing a roll of bandages and what seems to be a disinfectant towelette.

She stares at him for a moment, examines his trembling hands and much too long fingernails, and decides the best thing she could do for now was play along. If she could survive this, he would never bother her again. That was the deal. She plans to hold him up to it.

Removing her jacket first, she watches his face for any type of reaction. He seems awestruck, for the most part. His expression is a little like the one he had the first time she saw him, with his lips slightly parted and his eyes fixed on her like she was some type of rarity. Awe, however, gets quickly replaced by horror once she rolls up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal the blood speckled bandages around her upper arm. While the color has turned mostly brown by now, there was no denying what was underneath.

Carefully, the bandages are removed from her arm, fresh blood and plasma seeping out as some of the dried blood and scabs are yanked out in the process. The wound is nowhere near as bad as it was the night she got it—but it still needs more time. She would have to give it another day or two before it sealed up completely. Then, a little longer for the bruises to go away.

She's going to kill that investigator the next time she sees him.

"W-What..." Crush Boy begins, mouth more or less uncooperative due to a mixture of what she supposes could be shock and nausea. This is what he gets for being so nosy. "What happened?"

She licks her lips. Stares at the front door all the way across the room. "I had an accident."

"An _accident_?" he asks, sounding absolutely flabbergasted. She supposes he must not be accustomed to seeing the result of having a chunk of your arm ripped off by a Dove. "What kind of accident?"

"Just an accident," she hisses through her teeth. "Do you have to question everything you're told? Didn't I tell you it would get annoying?"

She hopes her refusal to provide a straight answer is more off-putting than it is suspicious.

But Crush Boy simply presses his lips into a fine line, dabbing away at the dried blood on her wound with the disinfectant towelette. She's thankful (so, so very thankful) that it no longer looks like someone haphazardly sawed off a piece of her upper arm. "Okay, okay... I get it," he responds. "It was an accident."

"Yeah," she tells him. "An accident."

One she had walked right into, really.

They fall into silence. She allows him to continue treating her arm, ignoring the discomfort of having someone touch the still tender patch of skin. She reminds herself for the nth time that this is one of the worst ideas she's had to date, and no matter how delicious he smells from this close up, they—

"Kirishima-san," Crush Boy says, interrupting her line of thought before she can even realize what had just crossed her mind. "I was wondering—when you left the bookstore, it looked like you hadn't bought anything."

Right. The bookstore. The one she had left in a hurry without purchasing what she had come for. Hinami's gift would have to wait a little while longer; she can only hope it's not _too_ long.

"Yeah," she huffs, leveling him a stare. "Because you walked into me, dumbass."

He blinks, almost as if he hadn't been expecting the insult. Then, he gives her a nervous chuckle as he sets the used towelette aside and reaches for a pair of scissors to cut the bandages with. "Were you looking for something in particular...?"

She _was_ looking for something in particular. She had _also_ felt hopelessly lost in the store, surrounded by shelves full of incomprehensible books she felt no desire to look at. There is no love lost between her and literature.

The same cannot be said of Crush Boy, judging by the bookshelves right next to the bed.

"The Black Goat's... Egg," she hesitantly replies. And that sounds about right, if she ignores the logistic nightmare of a goat having an egg. A moment after the title has left her mouth, though, she finds herself shaking her head and wanting to take the words back. "No, actually, just—"

She's cut off.

"—N-No way...!" he exclaims, wrapping the fresh bandages around her arm more tightly than is strictly necessary. She doesn't know what to make of his reaction. "You're a fan of Takatsuki Sen's work?!"

"... Sure," she lies. It's better than admitting the truth, just in case. "You know of him?"

"Her," he's quick to correct, before carrying on without missing a beat. "She's my favorite novelist! I... um... I didn't know you were a fan of mystery novels, too, Kirishima-san."

Neither did she.

These are the things she will put up with for Hinami's sake.

"Ah... yeah," she says, watching him finish wrapping her wound. He's babbling, with vigor she didn't know he was capable of, and she's only listening halfway. She could actually care less about this Takatsuki Sen person and how young she was when she began her career as a novelist, but Crush Boy seems to care an awful lot. A little _too_ much, if you ask her.

But nobody's asking.

"Are you done?" she asks, cutting him off as he begins to explain the plot of The Black Goat's Egg. As interesting as it is to learn about Hinami's taste in novels, she has more pressing matters to attend to. Namely—getting out of here.

"Oh... Yeah," he responds, eyes darting back and forth between her face and his work. He must have not expected being cut off so suddenly. "It looks like I am."

Good.

"Then... we're done here," she says, pulling the sleeve of her shirt down. She makes a point of avoiding his gaze as she reaches for her jacket. Cutting things off abruptly is the only way to go. If she stays here any longer, (_she_) he might get attached.

She feels him stand up as she slips her jacket on. She's letting him down easily. This is what they agreed on. It's for his own good.

"Wait," he begins. She doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't want to think about how gullible he is and the CCG brochure on his table.

"You said you'd fuck off," she tells him. "Didn't you? We're done here."

She ignores the look on Kaneki's (_Crush Boy's_) face as she leaves.

If he knows what's good for him, he'll give up on this.

* * *

(He doesn't.)

* * *

"Here," Irimi says during her next shift, casually holding a thick and rectangular package out to her. Touka gingerly takes it in her hand, brows knit in confusion as she searches the wrapping for some kind of note but finds none.

Suspicious.

"What is it?" she asks, trying to remove one of the pieces of tape holding the thing together with her fingernail. There is another question hidden behind her words. Mostly, the question of _who_ left it here.

But her co-worker simply shakes her head at her, shrugging her shoulders as she returns to her duty of polishing a ceramic cup. "I don't know. A human customer dropped it off," she says. There is a glint in her eyes. "Maybe you have an admirer, Touka."

The paper wrapping comes off with a satisfying _rip_ as she gives up on carefully removing the tape and gives in to the urge to destroy the wrapping. Beneath, she finds The Black Goat's Egg staring back at her.

"No," she breathes, "I don't."

That idiot.


	10. ( death throes )

author's note;  
01/04/15 — Happy New Year! Sorry for the radio silence during all of December, but here's chapter 10 (finally). Enjoy and, whatever you do, don't die while reading early TG√A spoilers.

Special thanks to insomniacClarinetist on AO3 for being such a fabulous beta.

* * *

It's 10:48 PM on a weekday. There are 137 pages left in her Classic Literature textbook, and she is pretty sure that she has failed to absorb the last 59. There is a full cup of coffee on top of her desk, lovelorn and untouched, and her highlighter pens are entering their death throes.

She feels like she is slowly losing her grip on reality.

Sighing, she rubs her eyes while carefully considering her choices. She _could_ call it a night here, giving in to the temptation to slam the damn book shut and catapult herself into bed—but that would have its repercussions. Namely, that she'll know diddly-squat about their assigned reading during the discussion that their teacher will insist on having in class tomorrow. She could, however, theoretically ask Yoriko for her notes.

But that would be the same as admitting defeat.

Resigning herself to this torture, she decides to search for replacements for her highlighter pens. Pulling open her desk drawer without glancing away from her textbook, she blindly feels around for another pen. Her fingers come into contact with something smooth and rectangular.

When she glances down, _The Black Goat's Egg_ stares back at her.

She slams the drawer shut just as quickly as she opened it.

She needs to get rid of that stupid book.

(She doesn't get rid of it.)

* * *

( _death throes_ )

* * *

Someone is laughing.

More specifically, Kaneki's (_Crush Boy's_) weird friend, who is slapping his hand against one of Anteiku's tables and clutching his stomach in what she can only assume is an attempt to keep his internal organs, well—internal. Not that she would be particularly against seeing the contents of his abdomen spilled all over the floor, with how disgustingly noisy he's being at the moment.

Alas, not everyone can have their wishes fulfilled.

"No way, no way," she hears him say between gasps of breath. "Let me get this straight. You had Touka-chan — at your place?"

She hears that shitty Kaneki sniff at the same time she sprays more cleaning fluid onto the bar. She pretends she's completely focused on destroying that tough stain in the corner. She cannot believe that that idiot has the audacity to call her Touka-_chan_ after knowing her for a little less than a month and a half.

"When you say it like that..." Kaneki sighs, and she can't help but to think he sounds a little indignant. "A-Anyway! Why does it matter?"

His friend, in turn, clicks his tongue and sighs an exaggerated sigh. "You had the _lovely_ Touka-chan at your place, Kaneki. Any man can realize the importance of this!"

Kaneki groans.

Simultaneously, she reminds herself that she is not eavesdropping. With how loudly they're speaking, a random nobody could hear them from all the way down the street.

"You're making it sound like..." Kaneki begins, trailing off before continuing with, "We didn't do anything. I was just—helping her out."

"Helping her out?" his friend asks, sounding a little too eager for his own good.

Kaneki pauses. Or—she thinks he does. But it's a couple of seconds before he weakly adds, "With... something."

"I see," his friend says in a way that implies he sees absolutely nothing at all. "Well, how was she?"

Despite herself, she digs her nails into the cloth in her hand and rips a new hole in it. She thinks she hears Kaneki choke on nothing at all.

"—H-Huh?"

"Pffft... don't make that face, man," his friend quickly responds, laughing all over again. "I'm asking about her personality! Jeez, what a dirty mind..."

As if he didn't mean to insinuate something—he's as bad as the old men she's met in the streets at night.

"Hide!" Kaneki yelps.

"Still waiting for an answer, Kaneki."

"Ugh— I'm not— can't we just—?" he begins. He stops. Exhales. Collects what little dignity he has left, if any. "Fine, but... keep it down, alright?"

"Keeping it down," Hide wheezes, trying to control his laughter. He does not keep it down. "So—c'mon. Don't leave me hanging."

She hears Kaneki inhale. "She was unexpectedly... serious."

(Serious is a strange choice of words.)

"Serious?" Hide asks, now significantly less _wheezy_.

Kaneki pauses yet again. She tries to focus on leaving this corner spotless instead of listening in to this moronic excuse for a conversation.

"...Horrible," Kaneki finally elaborates.

Trying not to listen to a conversation about herself is easier said than done.

Hide hums, and when she unconsciously glances up from the spot she's been furiously rubbing for the last few minutes, she finds him scratching his cheek. "So Touka-chan is a surprising _tsuntsun_ type, huh?"

She still wishes his insides had spilled out, earlier.

Kaneki is quick to hush him, apparently, a strangled noise coming out of his mouth. "Don't say it like that," he seethes, and she catches a glimpse of him putting a finger to his mouth and a hand on his best friend's face. "She could hear you."

Hide, on the other hand, does not seem to be deterred by the undoubtedly sweaty palm on his face. He continues speaking, uttering nonsense that she can't quite catch but Kaneki is fully capable of understanding. That idiot Kaneki opens his mouth, face set in some expression she can't make out through her bangs, and then—

"Oi, oi. Touka-chan, what are you up to?"

—she doesn't get to hear what he says.

She looks (_away from them_) up from the cloth in her hand, vaguely taking note of the fact the spot on the bar is nonexistent by now, and finds Koma standing right next to her. She thinks that her surprise and confusion must be plainly visible on her face, because he wastes no time before following her previous line of sight, chuckling and looking very much like he's about to impart some wisdom upon her. That—or another story about his days as the Demon Ape or _whatever._

"Distracted, huh?" he says, incomprehensibly. "I remember back when I was—"

"Koma-san," she cuts him off, propping one of her hands on her hip and trying her best to pretend she doesn't feel disappointed about not hearing the rest of that conversation. Which, actually, she isn't. So there's no pretending to do. "What are _you_ up to?"

Of course, her co-worker looks somewhat dejected. _Of course_, she doesn't care. She would rather chew on styrofoam than listen to another riveting tale from Koma.

"Doing my job. I'm behind the bar today," he says, "But you know, there are two costumers we haven't taken orders from."

The implication is obvious. She knows exactly which table he's talking about. That doesn't stop her from staring, though.

"How... strange," she says, slowly. "Where's Irimi-san?"

"Oh, she comes in later," he replies, much too lightly for her tastes. He then gives her a look that makes her feel just a teeny bit transparent. "My, you're surprisingly unfocused today."

She glares at him, scrunching up her nose and hoping his skin would melt off his face. "Mind your own business, Koma-san," she tells him, "Or I'll rip that ugly bow tie off your neck."

Without sticking around to hear his protests, she pushes the cloth she had been cleaning the bar with into his hands. She wipes her hands on the side of her skirt, locates her notepad, and takes out her pen. When she hears the metallic clicking within her pocket as she moves towards the floor of the shop, she's reminded of her shitty decision making skills.

She should have gotten rid of that book, really.

"Oh, Touka-chan!" Hide says, a toothy grin on his face as he spots her approaching their table. "We were just talking about—" Something mortifying, so it seems, judging by the kick Kaneki swiftly delivers to his friend's shin.

She pretends not to notice.

"—A-About," Kaneki quickly takes over, laughing weakly and touching his chin with his hand. "About our orders! Isn't that right, Hide?"

Hide shoots him what can only be described as a look of complete and utter disbelief, but she's all too happy to pretend she sees nothing. This isn't her problem. She is not a counselor, be it for friendships or strange marriages. "Right," he says, "This delusional guy and I were talking... about our orders."

He could not sound more obvious if he tried.

"Is that a fact?" she asks, a smile on her lips. The manager should raise her pay for making her put up with this. "What will you be having, then?"

"We'll have..." Hide begins—and stops just as quickly, giving his companion a pointed look. "Hey, Kaneki, tell her what we'll have."

"Uh..." Kaneki eloquently responds, looking more or less like someone just pushed him into the middle of a busy intersection. "We'll have—two americanos?"

She jots it down. Makes note to make the water to espresso ratio wildly unequal in _his_ cup. "Anything else?"

"Um... No," comes the answer.

"Okay. Then..." she says, lowering her notebook and clipping her pen to the front of her vest—but not walking away. "Here." And when they give her perplexed looks, she reaches into her pocket and holds out nearly two thousand yen to him.

Kaneki's eyes could not be wider even if he tried. "Kirishima-san?" he hesitantly asks, tone dripping with confusion. "What is this for...?"

"You left something for me the other day, didn't you?" she replies without missing a beat. "I'm paying you back. So take it."

He blinks. "Uhm... I can't accept—"

"—Take it," she insists with more force, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"But—" he tries again, shaking his head as if that would do anything to change her mind. "I can't—"

Too bad for him she's having none of it. Before she even realizes what she's doing, she takes a hold of his hand and shoves the money into his open palm. She thinks he looks shocked, but at this point, she could not care less if she tried. Forcing his fist to close around the yen, she forgoes all work ethic and fixes him a glare. If he thought she was horrible enough before, she must seem absolutely horrifying now. "_Take it_," she hisses, squeezing his fist with both of her hands. "Or I'll shove it up your ass, shithead. You promised we were _done_."

Much to her relief, he nods, looking absolutely gobsmacked.

It's then that she notices two important details. First, that the costumers around them are giving her quite the look. Second, that she's still holding his hand.

She quickly pulls away from him and excuses herself.

His americano contains more water than coffee.

* * *

Her shift ends when nighttime comes and it's time to close Anteiku down for the day. She takes out the trash with Irimi, insults Koma's bow tie again as they both finish up cleaning the kitchen, and makes her way to the staff room in order to change back into her casual clothes. When she picks up her bag, the weight of it gives her a pause.

Hinami still hasn't received her gift.

(She should have returned the book.

Should have bought a new one.)

Buttoning her sweater and slipping on her shoes, she pulls the strap of her bag over her shoulder and makes her way upstairs. One, two, three strides down the hall—and she gently knocks on the door of the room Hinami has been staying in. She waits a couple of seconds, wonders if she's finally managed to fall asleep after several restless nights, and quietly opens the door to take a peek inside.

She finds Hinami in the shape of a person-sized lump on the couch.

Without knowing why, Touka lets out a breath she has been holding.

"Hinami?" she says, making her way over to the couch and setting her bag down on the floor. She crouches down next to her and gently places a hand on her shoulder, shaking her ever-so-slightly. Part of her feels guilty for trying to wake her up, but she feels like this might be a _now or never_ type of thing.

Either way, Hinami groans after a moment or two, mumbling something Touka can't quite pick up and curling up even further. Touka sighs, smiles, and squeezes her shoulder.

"Hina," she says, tone full of a warmth that reminds her of times long gone. Times full of skinned knees and worms. "Wake up. I have something for you."

"Touka-... onee-chan?" Hinami finally says, and it sounds like her mouth is heavy and numb. Momentarily, Touka regrets not bringing a glass of water with her, but the water might still running downstairs and there's no reason why she can't take a water bottle from the fridge later if it isn't.

"Yep, that's right," she replies, hand moving away from Hinami's shoulder to ruffle her hair affectionately. "So... how about you sit up? It's not good to receive a gift while you're lying down."

Hinami groans again, but this time she rubs her eyes and gives Touka a half-hearted nod. Pushing herself up to a sitting position and letting her sheets pool around her legs, she glances at Touka with heavy lidded eyes. She looks small and lost; almost younger than her real age.

But Touka doesn't let that rip the smile off her face. Hinami needs love and support, and if nobody else is capable of providing it, then she will. It's the least she can do for Ryouko, after she—

(—_couldn't keep her from being killed_.)

She can't change the past.

"Feeling okay?" she asks, despite knowing the answer to that question already.

Still, Hinami nods. Her lips are parted and her gaze is unsteady. She looks the opposite of okay, but Touka still wants to believe her with all her heart. She wants to believe that Hinami can be okay in a world where ghouls are hunted down for the mere crime of existing. She wants to believe that there's justice for kindhearted ghouls like Hinami. She wants to believe a lie.

"Good," she hears herself saying, heart heavy as lead. "Well, like I said, I have something for you. Think you're ready to see it?"

Hinami's silence speaks volumes. She rubs her eyes once again and picks gunk out of their corners. "... Okay."

And like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, Touka makes a show of presenting her bag to Hinami. She rummages around, pretending to search for something she found the moment she stuck her hand in, and loudly hums a tune she remembers hearing in a festival once. It's cheery and upbeat. It does nothing to cheer Hinami up.

After a moment, she stops humming and allows her smile to widen triumphantly. "Here we go," she says, slowly pulling the damned thing out. "I found it."

When she takes it out and presents it to Hinami, the effects are instantaneous. Her previously listless gaze vanishes immediately, replaced by a look full of surprise. Touka hears her sucking in a breath, eyes wide with wonder. "Ahh... it's by Takastuki..." she breathes, "Is— is it really for me?"

Naturally, Touka nods and tosses it her way, smiling as Hinami fumbles to hold on to it. "Yeah. It is," she tells her, a lie already forming on her lips. "I... saw it while I was browsing the bookstore. I thought you might like it."

"Amazing..." Hinami says, practically beaming at her. "Thank you, Touka-onee-chan! I love it!"

"I knew you would," she says, and it's the truth. She could never doubt a parent's intuition. "You're studying, aren't you? If there are any words you don't understand... it's okay if you ask me."

"I will!" Hinami responds, clutching the book to her chest and looking a little bit more like the young 14-year-old girl she knows. "I'll come to you right away."

Touka smiles, closing her bag and messing Hinami's hair up for the second time since she's entered the room. "I'm glad," she tells her, "But don't stay up reading it, alright? A growing girl needs her sleep."

Hinami pouts, but the shine in her eye remains. "I won't, onee-chan."

She won't be able to fall back asleep with that book in her hand, Touka is sure, but she takes her words at face value. "Okay," she says, getting up from the couch and heading towards the door. "I'm going to bring something for you to drink, and then I'll head home."

"Okay," Hinami tells her, and Touka smiles at her.

Once she's downstairs with a bottle of water in her hand and a knot in her stomach, she realizes she's giving Hinami borrowed happiness.

In the end, the book wasn't her idea. It was Ryouko's. And while delivering Ryouko's gift to her daughter doesn't make her feel like a cheater, knowing that she wasn't the one to _obtain _that gift does. She hates to admit it, but she felt like a fish out of water in that bookstore. If it hadn't been for Kaneki—

If it hadn't been for—

Shit.

She stops, staring at her own blurry reflection on the fridge's stainless steel door. She can't remember when he stopped being Crush Boy in her mind and became—well, it doesn't really matter. She's noticed it now. She can stop. It's difficult enough maintaining her friendships at school without feeling like all her secrets will be exposed in a second. She doesn't need additional stress.

Today, that bridge was burned. He'd said it himself, when he was speaking with that friend of his. He'd said she was horrible, and that's fine with her. She wants to be horrible. She wants him to stay, far, far, _far_ away from her. That's what's best, not just for him, but for everyone.

Exhaling through her nose, she opens the fridge again and exchanges the bottle in her hand for another one. Hinami deserves the coldest water in the kitchen.

That's right. Hinami is her priority right now. Taking revenge on the Doves and diverting their attention from Hinami's existence—that's what really matters. She does not give a damn about anything else. Protecting what little she has left is her priority right now.

So she plasters a smile on her face, gives Hinami her water bottle, and tucks her in. There is already a clover themed bookmark between the first pages of Takatsuki Sen's novel and a rosy tinge on Hinami's cheeks.

"Remember," Touka tells her, her bag on her shoulder and her hands on her hips. "Don't stay up all night. You need your rest, too."

"I won't, Touka-onee-chan. I promise."

But like the hypocrite she is, that only applies to Hinami. Not to her.

* * *

Sleep eludes her for the rest of the night.

(But that's the breaks.)


	11. ( it's like clockwork )

author's note;  
02/20/15 — Valentine's Day has already passed, but that doesn't mean I can't wish y'all a happy February! That said, I hope you all enjoy this chapter... _and_ that you leave your bootyful thoughts and predictions in the form of reviews. I'm super curious about what all of you, my readers, think will happen in future chapters, so don't hesitate to show me your theories.

As a side note: you can all follow me on tumblr at **carcinology** OR follow my writing blog, **godmodes**, for fic updates and musings.

Special thanks to insomniacClarinetist on AO3 for all her hard work while beta reading!

* * *

( _it's like clockwork _)

* * *

**i.**

* * *

She meets up with Yoriko on the way to school.

The early morning chill keeps their fingers numb and their cheeks flushed. Yoriko is wrapped up in the brightest pink scarf Touka has ever laid eyes on, her winter uniform buttoned up as far as it goes and the tip of her nose red. Touka hears her sniffle once or twice, all the while rubbing her nose with her right hand and complaining about the weather. _I can't wait for summer_, Yoriko occasionally comments in a thick and nasally voice, as well as, _I wish club practice wasn't this early_.

Taking note of her best friend's plight, Touka suggests they make a quick stop at a dainty little bakery five minutes away from their school. Surprising absolutely no one, Yoriko is all too eager to agree.

They spend a couple of minutes picking out sweets. Yoriko's face hovers over the glass dividing the customers from the baked goods on displays, and Touka pretends to be interested in a set of animal themed donuts in the far left corner of the shop. Yoriko, being _Yoriko_, wastes no time chatting up the employee behind the display, asking about ingredients and techniques and a multitude of things Touka can never hope to understand. Besides, it's not like she'll ever have to apply them; she's not prone to cooking meals for humans, unlike her father.

(Subject change.

Now is not the time to be walking down memory lane, she thinks.

Her stomach churns uncomfortably, anyway.)

"—Right, Touka-chan...?" she hears Yoriko address her, snapping her out of her thoughts and interrupting the one-sided staring contest she had engaged in with a beady-eyed, cat themed sweet.

She has no idea what Yoriko is asking her; she must have spaced out without noticing. The blank look on her face as she abruptly turns to glance at her best friend should be enough of a tip-off.

Yoriko catches on quickly enough, pressing her lips into a fine line and making a displeased sound at the back of her throat. "Jeez..." she huffs, arms akimbo. "You didn't listen to a word I said, did you?"

Touka does her best to appear apologetic. "Ah... I guess not," she says, giving her best friend a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sorry, Yoriko. What were you saying?"

That, apparently, is enough to get her off the hook. Yoriko examines her for a moment, her lips pursed in a way that reminds Touka that her best friend is a teeny bit too perceptive for her own good, before shaking her head. "Oh, well..." she says, after a moment's pause. "I already forgot what I said, so it must have not been all that important..."

And the subject (_whatever_ it was) is effectively dropped.

Having wasted enough time in the bakery, they eventually pick out a pair of treats to buy. Yoriko effectively charms the employee into getting them some freshly brewed coffee from the staff room to warm themselves, for which Touka is _infinitely_ thankful, and then they're on their merry way. By the time they arrive at the school gates, which are surrounded by those few unfortunate souls unlucky enough to have club activities before their classes begin, Yoriko has completely devoured her early morning snack.

Touka, on the other hand, has failed to do the same. This does not go unnoticed by her best friend.

"Is something wrong, Touka-chan?" Yoriko asks, peering at her with brown eyes and healthy amount of concern. Or, _un_healthy, depending on who you ask, and when. "You haven't eaten your donut... Did you not like it?"

Touka glances down at the empty paper cup in her left hand and the untouched sweet in her right. When she squeezes the donut slightly, the dried frosting cracks and the filling seeps out through one of its corners. It's cherry bright, sticky and foul. She's proud of herself for not wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"I didn't notice — that it was cherry flavored," she replies, grasping at an excuse. "Cherry filling always tastes kind of like shit." It's not technically a lie, and it's not quite the truth either. She thought she could at least stomach this much, but she can't even bring the damned thing up to her mouth before she catches a whiff of its odor and bile threatens to come up her throat.

"Ehh...? You should have asked the cashier," Yoriko presses on, brows furrowed and lower lip puckered into a pout. Her point is extremely valid. "You're going to lose weight if you don't eat a proper breakfast..."

Not that this is a proper breakfast by any means, but Touka isn't exactly about to point that out. Instead, she scrunches her nose and channels her fear of being found out into displeasure. "Oi, oi... I eat well enough. Don't imply I don't," she tells Yoriko, rolling her eyes for added effect. "Besides... I ate before I left home."

Of course, Yoriko doesn't look convinced, but she seems to be relatively less worried now. "Okay," she replies, "But remember — I'm watching you.

Touka laughs and smiles, waving her best friend off as her stomach does somersaults. "I know, I know."

(It is so much easier to keep strangers and boys with crushes away than it is to keep away Yoriko.)

* * *

**ii.**

* * *

Predictably, the Doves' presence in the 20th Ward has made things infinitely harder for those who are beginning to feel hungry.

Also predictably, though her stomach is full and her hunger is sated for the moment, Touka is—

(_Angry_, is one word for it.

_Murderous_, is another.)

She idly scans the pages of the newspaper Yoshimura had picked up earlier, allowing her cup of coffee to cool on the table before her. For all appearances, she is a dutiful employee enjoying her well-earned ten minute break. _For all appearances_, she is not a murderer catching up on what the press has to say about her recent exploits.

Kusaba Ippei, the obituary helpfully points out, providing a name to a corpse that should be properly buried by now. The paragraphs proceeding it are pretty standard, stating basic information and expressing condolences at the loss of such a fine agent. If he had a wife, kids, or any form of immediate family, the paragraphs do not say so. Her curiosity over such a fact is random at best and morbid at worst. She doesn't feel an ounce of regret over what she's done. It was necessary, after all. Hinami will never be safe as long as the CCG thrives.

She picks her cup of coffee up and takes a small, careful sip. It's perfect.

Returning her attention to the page before her, she continues to scan over the obituary for anything useful. Anything at all that could give her hope for Hinami's well-being.

She finds it at the very end. A simple line, implying the late investigator _could_ have been killed by a ghoul involved in an investigation he had been participating in.

It's vague, but possibly a good sign.

If the CCG thinks she's the same ghoul as _Clover_, then that's something she could definitely live with. Because the CCG has never seen Hinami in person, they have no way of knowing how she looks, sounds, or acts. All they have is a suspicion of her existence, based solely on evidence found in Fueguchi Asaki's residence—or so Yomo had told her. If that much is true, then the CCG has insufficient evidence to do anything. If they have truly been misled, then there's no way for them to distinguish between Kirishima Touka's physique and Fueguchi Hinami's still childlike appearance.

She smiles grimly into her cup and finishes the last of her drink. Her ten minutes are up.

When she goes to check on Hinami a couple of hours later, she leaves the newspaper downstairs.

* * *

**iii.**

* * *

"Oh, gosh," she hears a human customer complain, her _Kansai-ben_ readily apparent. Touka catches a glimpse of her as she fishes lip balm out of her purse, a compact mirror propped up against the empty ceramic cup before her. "The advertisements are all gettin' kinda heavy-handed, aren't they?"

"They sure are," her friend (or date, perhaps) agrees, "You'd think they'd get tired of playin' the same commercial again and again… idiots."

"Hey, hey... That's kind of harsh, isn't it?"

As to what advertisements they're pointlessly complaining about, Touka can only guess. November is a little more than a week away from becoming history, and she supposes a number of holiday sales and events are coming up soon. If she weren't so preoccupied with other things (eating enough for the month, managing finances on her own, _surviving_—), she would probably find the time to complain as well. But as it is, that kind of thing seems too arbitrary and petty to think about.

The bell attached to the front door chimes, and Touka turns on her heel to greet another pair of customers. She widens the smile on her face, pitches her voice _just_ right, and flawlessly leads them towards the only clean table in the shop. Koma is slacking off, it seems.

It's the same table where she met and got rid of Kaneki Ken.

(—_Crush Boy_, she corrects herself rather vehemently.)

Touka jots down their orders and pretends that he never existed in the first place.

* * *

**iv.**

* * *

Smack dab in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, Yoriko shows up on her doorstep—like clockwork.

"Yoriko?" Touka asks after opening the door, still holding the knob in her hand. "What are you doing here...?"

Yoriko smiles innocently at her. Her eyes wander to some point beyond Touka's head, almost as if she is expecting to catch somebody there, but that's just an assumption on Touka's part. After a moment, she lets out a small laugh and leans forward, invading Touka's personal space. "I've brought you a surprise," she whispers, almost conspiratorially. "Can you guess what it is?"

Well, no. No, she can't. Touka makes this quite known when she raises both eyebrows and blinks down at her, not following. "A... surprise. Why?"

"Yep," Yoriko replies, completely undeterred by this. "I've noticed... you've looked upset for a while now. It reminded me of when your dad transferred overseas, so I decided to—"

"Yoriko," Touka begins, suddenly a little overwhelmed. "You don't _have _to—"

But Yoriko cuts her off, shushing her and shaking her head. "I do!" she responds, propping her right hand on her hip and bringing Touka's attention to a conspicuously large bag in her left for the first time. "I know you would do the same for me, Touka-chan."

When Yoriko shifts, something within the bag rattles and _clangs_. It sounds distinctly metallic.

"Jeez..." she mumbles, rubbing her temples and stepping aside. She might have a slight idea of where this is going, but right now—she can feel all resistance draining out of her. Yoriko is right and_ that _kind of sucks. "Fine. Come in — but don't make a mess."

"I won't!" Yoriko insists, entering without a moment of hesitation.

There are so many reasons this is a bad idea, and the fact the stove in her kitchen is mostly there for decoration is only one of them. Touka manages to put all of that aside in order to enjoy the moment.

(And though Yoriko's refined cooking tastes particularly awful to her taste buds, she pretends it's the best meal she's eaten in ages.)


	12. ( onward )

author's note;  
03/11/15 — This is such a "calm before the storm" chapter, it isn't even funny. Can you pick up how? Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy it! Next update will include 100% more Kaneki.

(As always, y'all can thank insomniacClarinetist for the wonderful beta reading!)

* * *

As November slowly drifts away, Touka's calendar becomes increasingly covered with cross marks and exam dates and assignments.

(And somewhere out there, there are identical faces eagerly awaiting their father's approval, but—)

The world continues onward.

* * *

( _onward_ )

* * *

—_if anyone has any information regarding the missing 23-year-old's whereabouts_, the reporter drones on, _please contact the authorities._

But Touka has no information regarding this missing 23-year-old, nor is she paying attention to the TV set propped against one of Anteiku's walls. She picks up a set of used ceramic cups from one of the tables near the entrance, giving the customers a winning smile, before carefully sliding the check onto the table. She hopes, for the sake of her wallet and her sanity, that they decide to tip her. The living expenses of a high school student are no laughing matter, after all.

When she turns on her heel to drop the dirty dishes in the kitchen for Irimi to wash, she spots Koma cleaning the bar while casually chatting up the old manager. For a moment, it feels like any other day; normal and uninterrupted. It feels like nothing bad has happened lately and all is right in the world.

Reality, in all its bloody glory, sinks in a couple of seconds later. Her head hurts as she retreats into the kitchen.

"Touka," Irimi says, taking note of Touka's presence immediately despite not looking up from the sink for a moment. She supposes that, despite the noise from the open faucet and the racket of the customers in the next room, Irimi's sense of hearing is as fantastic as always.

Touka steps towards the sink, smiling apologetically at Irimi, and places the used cups with the rest of the dirty dishes. If Touka hates washing the dishes during normal hours, she cannot imagine how Irimi feels now that the local workers are ending their morning shifts, sorely in need of an afternoon pick-me-up before returning home.

"Sorry," she tells her, "But I brought two more."

Irimi only laughs, softly and quietly. "That's all right," she says, and then her eyes are momentarily on Touka's face. "Something is bothering you. What is it?"

Faced with a completely and utterly unexpected question, Touka can't help but to blink. Once, twice, _thrice—_and then she's chuckling awkwardly, taking the opportunity to wash her hands before she has to go back to attend the rest of the customers. "What do you mean?" she responds, feeling a little bit like a child caught in the middle of a prohibited act. "Nothing is bothering me."

That's a lie, and she knows it.

In response, Irimi hums, calmly taking a sponge to a particularly nasty stain on one of their older ceramic plates. Touka almost wonders how long it was left on a table before someone picked it up.

"Is it Hinami?" Irimi asks, her tone amazingly casual. "Or, perhaps, it's something else?"

Irimi is no idiot. Anyone can put two and two together, when a ghoul investigator winds up dead shortly after Ryouko's murder.

Touka's throat suddenly feels sticky and dry. It's not a good combination. "Irimi-san..." she says, hesitating on every syllable.

"You're young, Touka," her co-worker tells her. "You should focus on keeping yourself safe."

And Touka can't think of anything to say to that, nor does Irimi add anything else. Well—Irimi has never been much of a conversationalist, anyway.

Touka pats her hands dry with a paper napkin before stepping out of the kitchen, quietly excusing herself as she does. When she steps past the bar and mentally prepares herself to deal with all the hustle and bustle that comes with this time of the day, her eyes momentarily land on the window that faces towards the street.

A moment is more than enough. She ends up making eye contact with Crush Boy as he walks past Anteiku. She thinks, absentmindedly, that his eyes look a tad bit wide. It's almost like he hadn't expected to see her again.

A second later, he's lost to the crowd.

She shakes her head, letting out a sigh she didn't even know she was holding, and returns to work. She has no time to be thinking about boys, and even less so about boys with dubious affiliations with the CCG and penchants for breaking deals and promises.

(If she were to feel even relatively fond of him, _which she doesn't_, it would be in the same way a human is fond of a stray cat.

And, besides—experience has _shown_ that even the most seemingly innocent humans are capable of stabbing you in the back.

But she'd rather not think about old ladies and spoonfuls of grotesque meals.)

* * *

Much later, she knocks on Hinami's door, a cup of coffee in her hand as she waits for a response.

She receives none.

When she gently pushes the door open and peers inside, she finds Hinami in the middle of a man-made disaster. Books are haphazardly arranged over the small coffee table, rumpled sheets are strewn over the floor, and a small notebook is laying open and face down on Hinami's exposed belly, her shirt hiked up far enough to expose half of her torso.

Touka isn't sure if she should be glad that Hinami's making a mess, or worried that she isn't picking up after herself.

Nonetheless, she places the cup of coffee on the nearest flat surface and begins to quietly clean up the mess, a fond smile on her face. The books are placed into a neat stack atop the coffee table, the sheets are picked up from the floor, and Touka leans over the couch, removing the notebook from Hinami's belly in order to pull her shirt down. She tucks her in with the sheets, making a conscious effort not to disturb her sleep, before making a move to close the notebook in her hand.

Unintentionally, she catches a glimpse of the text inside, scrawled in middle school student's bubbly handwriting. She wishes she hadn't.

_I miss Mother and Father._

And—

_Will I die, too?_

She places the notebook next to the stack of books and brushes a stray strand of hair out of Hinami's face.

There is no fucking justice in this world.


	13. — left eye —

author's note;  
03/27/15 — Well. TGA sure did happen. After all that heartbreak, I think we all need an extra helping of Kaneki and Hide being happy and safe, even if the timing is completely accidental. _Cries_.

(As always, you can all thank insomniacClarinetist for being an excellent beta! Her variations of "oh shit" and "oh Hide" were greatly appreciated.)

* * *

( _INTERMISSION_ )

* * *

— _left eye_ —

* * *

Kaneki Ken's alarm rings at 6:30 AM on the dot.

He groggily hits the snooze button at least five times from 6:30 AM until 6:50 AM. When he finally manages to slowly and painfully drag himself out of bed, he does not stand up so much as _slide_ off his bed, pulling one of his sheets along with him as his apartment's heating system does little to ward off the morning chill. He thinks his left eyelid may be glued shut by dried sleep gunk, but—eh. He's half asleep as it is. He barely even registers the loss of vision until he reaches the bathroom, fumbling around for the light switch and shivering as the ceiling lamp turns on. His left eye suddenly stings.

He goes on about his morning routine as he normally would. The problem with his eye is quickly resolved as he splashes cold water on his face and furiously rubs at it. He then shuts the bathroom door, turns on the shower, and braces himself for what will most certainly be a painful experience. Cold showers are anything but pleasant, but unfortunately for him, giving in to the urge to turn up the heat as far as it goes will only make him want to crawl back into bed even more.

It's not something he can afford to do, with two classes waiting for him. It would probably be too much to hope that one (or both) of his professors is absent today.

Twenty minutes later, he steps out of the bathroom, pulls on a pair of briefs, and drops his sheet on his bed before moving on to his small kitchen. Ingredients, bowls, skillets—and the stove is turned on and so is his coffee maker. Risking a caffeine addiction is preferable to falling asleep in the middle of class, so he has no trouble with grabbing the largest cup he owns and dumping gratuitous amounts of cream and sugar in it. Anything to make it through the day, he supposes.

His breakfast is finished and ready to be consumed by 7:26 AM. He makes his way to the small table in his apartment, placing the coffee cup on the edge of it as he slowly pushes aside the miniature mountain of magazines and brochures, careful not to allow the table to wobble enough to spill his coffee. Once there's enough space for him to set down his plate, he does so, lowering himself in front of the table and adopting _agura_. From the corner of his eyes, he spots the TV remote next to the pile he has just pushed aside, laying on top of a CCG brochure he doesn't quite remember acquiring.

(He remembers where, how and why he acquired it in the not-so-distant future.

But that's a story for another day.)

When he reaches over and turns on the TV, there is a sobbing woman on-screen and a news reporter asking questions about a family member. He only manages to catch the very end of the interview.

His first assumption is murder; his second is that maybe this is yet another missing person case, what with how many other random disappearances he's seen in the news lately. He doesn't know. As long as it isn't happening to someone close to him, he can ignore it. Many human beings are like that, whether they realize it or not. The thought comes and goes quickly, subconscious as all realizations of its type are.

Once he's done with breakfast, he tosses the dirty dishes into the sink and hurries to get dressed. The TV set is left on until he's about to leave, abruptly turned off midway through an announcement about a _gourmet. _He doesn't have enough time to wonder about it.

* * *

After getting out of his first class, Hide greets him in his usual, overly-enthusiastic way. It's almost as if his best friend hasn't seen him in many, many years.

(In fact, the last time Nagachika Hideyoshi spoke to Kaneki Ken was the previous night. They had a riveting discussion about homework, ghouls, and the prospect of Kaneki getting gobbled up by the latter.

_"You could be next,"_ Hide had teased him over the phone, doing his best impression of a nameless horror movie narrator. _"Maybe we'll see your name on the news — can you picture it? Kaneki Ken, age 18. Caught off-guard while worrying over his own delusions... Scary, isn't it?"_

Naturally, Kaneki had been less than amused. _"Ha ha,"_ he had responded with a sound so forced and stale, it couldn't even be considered a laugh. _"Terrifying, Hide... I'm petrified."_)

"You know," Hide pipes up, halfway through annihilating a breakfast sandwich from the cafeteria. Kaneki supposes that to Hide, maybe, if certain items from the cafeteria aren't consumed fast enough, they'll grow legs and crawl out of their plate. "I was told to get a DVD of last year's festival from Nishio-senpai."

"Told...?" Kaneki repeats, pausing halfway through bringing a cup of juice up to his lips. "You mean to say you haven't done that yet?"

"Nope," Hide easily answers with a shrug of his shoulders, carelessly giving Kaneki a close and personal view of the contents of his mouth. He's going to have nightmares about the sight for weeks to come.

"Hide," Kaneki begins, glancing away and avoiding looking too closely at the grotesque mix of saliva, bread and _who knows_ what else. "Could it be... That you're shrinking your duties?"

"Maybe," Hide tells him, and then, "Or maybe I wanted to hang out with my _best friend_ in the whole wide world first."

He thinks he's touched. Sort of. Just a tad bit. Or, more accurately, a whole lot. Kaneki opens his mouth to react to that sentiment, but he doesn't get to do so. Hide quickly adds something else.

"Haha—just kidding! I was hungry and wanted to grab a bite first. Bumping into you was a coincidence," he explains with a melodramatic sigh. "It's not my fault you're so hopelessly attached to me... I've been trying to shake you off since grade school!"

"Hide!"

It says a lot about their friendship, he thinks, that he's certain from the bottom of his heart that Hide doesn't mean a word of it.

It also says a lot when true to Hide's terribly unflattering description of him, he tags along with him when he goes to fetch the DVD from their upperclassman.

"Is he an International Studies student, too...?" he finds himself asking, as they make their way across campus, stomachs happy and full.

"Hmm...?" Hide hums, leading the way and navigating through hallways and stairs in the Natural Sciences building like he knows them by memory. "Ah — no. He's a student of the Pharmacy Department."

"Oh," Kaneki responds, eloquently, and thinks of nothing else to say along the way.

When they reach a certain door, Kaneki straightens his posture in anticipation, waiting for Hide to knock like any other normal human being would.

Honestly, he should have known better.

"Excuse me!" Hide chirps, opening the door without preamble. "I'm coming in!"

Well—they don't spot their senpai immediately, but they do spot someone else. A young woman, in fact, with short brown hair and a pretty face, halfway through fixing up her horribly rumpled skirt. Her shirt is on the desk behind her, Kaneki notes, and her exposed breasts are very, very nice.

His body reacts before any of them have a chance to properly parse what they're seeing. A warm sensation spreads through his body, burning his neck, cheeks, and ears. He shamefully chokes on his own saliva around the same time the poor girl opens her mouth and screams bloody murder. _Great_.

It's a miracle that their senpai, who emerges from a corner of the room seconds after with a similarly rumpled appearance, doesn't kick them out. Not knocking on a door is already a capital offense; walking in on someone's half-dressed girlfriend (well, Kaneki can only _assume_) seems even worse.

They get away with what amounts to a tongue-lashing, Hide nervously apologizing for his impoliteness while the smell of coffee hangs in the air. Nishio's girlfriend takes advantage of Hide's nervous babbling, slipping on the rest of her clothing before darting out of the room, barefooted and shamefaced. Kaneki seems to be on a roll lately, leaving the worst impressions on the people he meets. Being thought of as a _shithead_ (among other, more colorful, adjectives) is bad enough. Now he can add _pervert_ to that unfortunate list.

"Next time," he slowly tells Hide, about half an hour later. "Please knock." The words come out of his mouth with a bit of a fuss, kicking and screaming and slipping through his teeth like a thick and unsavory concoction. It might just be him trying not to think about the first pair of breasts he's seen since—well, _ever_.

"I will," Hide promises, scratching his cheek and looking appropriately abashed. He carries the green DVD case like the spoils of war, close to his chest in a white-knuckled grip. "You don't have to tell me twice."

Well, no. He doesn't even have to tell him _once_. Their upperclassman did a pretty good job of articulating the importance of knocking on doors and not walking in on half-dressed ladies, but Kaneki feels the need to point it out. If Hide gets to mortify him over pretty waitresses that are way out of his league, then the least Kaneki can do is mortify him over his manners. Or, rather, his lack thereof.

(_Of course_, Kirishima Touka isn't merely out of his league; Kaneki is pretty sure she downright hates his guts. He can only assume she has spent the last couple of days wishing him ill, after he ignored their agreement and went ahead and gifted her Takatsuki's book. He thought it was the least he could do; a parting gift-cum-apology for crashing into her and aggravating that injury on her arm. Obviously, that wasn't the way she saw it, and now he's left to wonder just how much of a screw up he is. Maybe he was too forward, or maybe she felt like he was harassing her in some way or another.

He can only imagine what opinion she has of him now, but he's sure it isn't favorable. After all, you'd have to be pretty bothered by a _gift_ in order to go far enough to pay the person back.

Part of him, deep inside, is glad she didn't return the book itself.

Another part of him bars him from touching the money she had forced on him. The coins feel contaminated, somehow.)

* * *

When he had hoped one of his professors was absent today, he didn't expect it to actually happen.

After he reaches his Asian History classroom with Hide, they're both greeted with a note on the door. _Today_, the note unceremoniously announces, stating the date and the hour of their course, _Professor Sato will not be gathering the class. Please sign the attendance sheet in the office and study chapters 4 and 5._

That would have been nice to know earlier, but he mustn't be choosy. A free period is a free period, after all, and even if he ends up exchanging astonished glances with Hide (Sato-sensei is _never_ absent), it gives him a teeny bit more freedom than he had moments before. It isn't very long before a wide grin appears on Hide's face and he's shoving both of his hands in his pockets.

"Let's grab lunch," his best friend suggests.

It's an awful suggestion. It hasn't been that long since they visited the cafeteria together. Kaneki tries to point this out. "Hide, didn't we just—?"

He doesn't get to.

"C'mon," Hide interjects, grabbing Kaneki by the strap of his book bag this time, "You know you want to, Kaneki."

Well, no. He doesn't. He feels pretty sated as it is, thank you very much, but Hide isn't taking no for an answer. Being the dutiful friend he is, Kaneki resigns himself to his fate with a sigh and a shuffle of his feet.

It's not long before they're outside of Kamii's campus, aimlessly roaming the streets of Nerima after having signed the attendance sheet.

"Where to?" Hide asks him. Kaneki thinks it's a bit of a weird question. Hide _is_ leading the way, after all.

"Well... uhm..." he begins to answer, anyway, following Hide down the sidewalk. "What about Big Girl?"

Getting catered to by cute girls is something he sorely needs right now. It might just be the elixir to his dilemmas, some of which are shaped like the breasts of Nishio Nishiki's girlfriend and some of which are shaped like a vitriolic Kirishima Touka.

"Really? Big Girl?" Hide responds, sounding somewhat surprised as he glances back at him. "Not Anteiku?"

Kaneki shoots him a look, one that seems to say _no_ in a multitude of different ways. Some of these ways are not to be mentioned in polite conversation.

"Fine, fine," Hide says, a little too quickly. "I get it. Gave up on Touka-chan, then?"

Kaneki can't bring himself to respond. It's not that he gave up. It's more that Kirishima has no interest in him and has made this fact crystal clear. He would not be a very good person if he continued to pine after her, as much as he _wants_ to. His mother taught him better than that, he thinks. Don't hurt others, don't make them uncomfortable, and don't make them feel _bad. _It's always better to be the one who gets the short end of the stick.

Normally, this is the point where he expects Hide to make some sort of comment. Knowing him for as long as he has, maybe something about Kaneki's refusal to go after Kirishima any longer is equating permission for Hide to court her instead—but Hide remains surprisingly quiet.

(It's not very surprising once he thinks about it.

Hide has always been more tactful when it really comes down to it. He's more observant than Kaneki is; more people orientated. It's just another trait to admire in his best friend.)

Kaneki continues to follow him, not quite all there, and not quite capable of thinking of directions and twists and turns. By the time he begins to pay attention to where they're going, he realizes Hide has taken one of the longer routes to Big Girl. This one involves walking right past Anteiku.

(_If Kirishima-san sees you_, something inside him says, _she's going to hate you even more._)

Kirishima sees him, alright. _He_ sees her, as well.

A momentary glance is more than enough for him to take in all of her, his eyes wide and his mouth open, gaping at her like an idiot. He sees her slender waist and her soft looking legs, takes note of her cerise lips and cute face—and soaks it all up when they make eye-contact. It's probably wishful thinking when he imagines, very briefly, that she looks just as surprised as he is. He immediately remembers what sparked his interest in her.

The crowd sucks him up a moment later, Hide giving him the strangest of looks. If Kaneki didn't know better, he'd think Hide did this on purpose.

"C'mon, Romeo," Hide says, almost quietly. "No more ogling Juliet."

Kaneki blinks, feeling a little lost. He recovers rather quickly. "Romeo and Juliet," he points out, "is a tragedy, Hide."

"Is it?" Hide asks, as if he didn't know that. "Hikoboshi, then."

Whether it's Romeo and Juliet or Hikoboshi and Orihime, the results are very much the same. He has no idea why Hide even bothers to make the comparison, when he can't even imagine confessing his feelings to Kirishima, and much less being something as dramatic as _star-crossed lovers _with her. His best friend, he thinks, needs to get back in touch with reality. Maybe redirect his interests towards something less mortifying.

Well, it won't matter for very long. His crush on Kirishima will be a thing of the past soon enough.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

He spots her again several days later.

Kaneki is on one side of the street, absentmindedly making his way home after a long day at Kamii. His umbrella is open to shield him from the sudden, light rain, but the occasional drop still makes its way through. _Sayoshigure_, he finds himself thinking, briefly reminded of Takatsuki Sen's work. His mind then drifts to other inconsequential things, until he spares a curious glance across the street.

Kirishima Touka is on the opposing sidewalk, clutching the hand of a younger-looking girl as they both follow a white haired man eastbound. Kaneki finds himself frowning about the same time he sees Kirishima throw a glance behind her, her lips pressed into a fine line and her expression grim. It's odd, but—

His view is suddenly blocked by an attractive, impeccably dressed man who nearly tramples him. It's no surprise, with the difference in their heights and builds. Apologies are exchanged, awkward pleasantries are said, and the man compliments Kaneki's _eyes_ of all things.

When Kaneki manages to politely pull away, Kirishima is gone.


	14. ( blurry )

author's note;  
06/27/15 — Oh, boy. Hello, everyone! Guess who's back from the dead? If your answer was either "you" or "this fic", then you're right on both accounts, because college is a killer and I am still recovering from having all my free time annihilated by it.

That said, thank you all for your feedback on the last chapter. I was pretty surprised by it, since I didn't expect so many positive reactions. I had fun writing that intermission, too, so chapters from Kaneki's side of things may happen every once in a while. Maybe every 13 chapters, for symmetry.

I'm rambling now, though, so onward we go! I have nothing to say about this chapter at the moment, except "be prepared". :)

* * *

She barely remembers her mother's face. Pictures and the occasional blurry memory are all she has to go on.

Her father, however, is a different story.

("_Remember, Touka,_" her father once told her, when he was happy and alive and not gone forever. "_As the big sister, it's your job to teach Ayato new things every day._"

"_I will._")

She stares at her bedroom ceiling and wonders what her father would think of her now.

* * *

( _blurry_ )

* * *

Despite her late night musings, the first school day of December starts out normally enough.

(Of course, that wholly depends on the definition of _normal_ that is being used.)

For some reason or another, most of her classmates stick around in the classroom during lunch hour, pushing together desks and chairs and pulling out carefully wrapped lunches of all varieties. Yoriko, being _Yoriko_, is all too eager to join in on this, uniting her desk with the others and dragging Touka along for the ride. Soon enough, everyone's talking and laughing and smiling far too brightly for high school students who are soon to be a year away from embarking on the uncertain journey known as _adulthood_. Touka finds she can tolerate the conversation as they drift from inconsequential subject to inconsequential subject—but things become uncomfortable quickly enough.

"Do you all know what my sister told me?" one of her classmates pipes up, a dainty little pastry inches away from her mouth. When no one responds to her obviously rhetorical question, she continues. "She told me a friend of a friend saw something scary the other night... A monster, actually, all big and horrible with black eyes and _something_ coming out of its back!"

_Ah_, comes the extremely eloquent realization to Touka's mind, _a ghoul_.

"Yeah, right," one of the boys scoffs, skepticism clear in his tone as he replaces the lid on his bento box, carelessly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and leans back into his chair. "And next, Inoue-chan will claim she saw a _yurei_ as well. This is real life, not a scary film."

Well, it sounds simple enough when said like _that_. If the scary things in life are ignored long enough, then they become fiction. If a blind eye is turned towards the things that go bump in the night, then it's easy enough to write them off as silly superstition; the ramblings of a far too imaginative mind. With that type of logic, there is nothing to see but humanity and its ingenuity.

But Touka has never been able to do that. The predatory organ located between her shoulders is proof enough of that. The memories of doves invading her childhood home (_her first kill_), too.

Yoriko smiles, gently bumping shoulders with her as their classmates continue to bicker on about some questionably mythical creature or whatever. "Oh," she begins, laughter in her voice. "Inoue-san and Tanaka-san are very energetic, aren't they?"

Touka glances at the windows across the classroom. Picks at the crust of her sandwich. _Shrugs_. "They're going to give our class a bad reputation," she responds, "Too damn noisy."

Like she cares about something as shallow as her class's reputation.

* * *

The last bell rings during the evening,. Having no club activities to speak of, Touka finds herself with no choice but to loiter around school grounds long enough that her underclassmen start giving her strange looks. Thankfully, the wait for Yoriko isn't eternal so much as it is _frustratingly long_, and they're on their way to the shoe boxes once Yoriko has exchanged quick farewells and overenthusiastic pleasantries with her kouhai, senpai, and fellow second-year students.

"Your captain seems... nice," Touka absentmindedly comments, searching for ways to fill the silence as she exchanges her indoor slippers for her outside shoes.

"Oh...? She is," Yoriko responds, just as absentmindedly, while placing her own slippers back into their respective shoe box. She pauses for a moment, glancing towards the front doors of their school, and without looking up, Touka doesn't need to have Hinami's or Irimi's level of hearing in order to know it's raining. The fact that Yoriko immediately goes look for her umbrella also helps to guide her towards that conclusion, but—_details_. "I still think you should have joined a club, too, Touka-chan. You would have enjoyed it."

Well, there's no denying she might have enjoyed it. Yoriko sure looks like she's enjoying participating in club activities, at least. But the more Touka thinks about it, the more reasons she comes up with to avoid extracurricular activities altogether. The risks outweigh the positive aspects by far.

"Jeez... And risk becoming an overachiever like you?" she deflects, her tone that of a joke as she locks her shoe locker. "I'm doing well enough in the Go Home club, Yoriko."

And Yoriko laughs, rolling her eyes and taking a step towards the exit. "Well, think about it for next year?" she asks, patiently waiting as Touka tries to locate her own umbrella. "It'll be your last chance, before... university, you know?"

She knows. She knows _very _well, because the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach never lets her forget about that. A couple of months and one year more, and she'll be graduating and heading towards higher education. Well—assuming she gets in at all, that is. But Touka doesn't have any large goals besides surviving, so unless she suddenly decides to aim for some amazingly prestigious institution, it shouldn't be as hard as she's heard. It's not like she's aiming for Kamii, or anything along those lines.

She's a realist, after all.

They step outside into the rain after opening their umbrellas. Their scarves are neatly wrapped around their necks, as their knee length socks and long-sleeved uniforms do little to keep out the cold. Yoriko shivers, stifling a sneeze once or twice, before pointing out the obvious.

"It's so cold, _so_ _cold_," she says, and Touka cannot agree quickly enough.

They walk their usual route side-by-side, crossing streets, going over bridges, and occasionally gazing at the colorful decorations displayed on every other shop. With certain holidays coming up, she supposes store owners are looking to boost their sales by catering to those who submit to the whole craze—but Touka has never been interested in that sort of thing, so she listens to Yoriko's excited chattering and moves on once her best friend is done talking about new ideas for winter themed recipes. For a while, Touka feels ridiculously normal. It's very nice.

It doesn't last very long at all, though.

"Oh," Yoriko says, after they've finished admiring a light display. "That reminds me... Do you have any plans for winter break? I know your dad is still working overseas, and Ayato-kun hasn't..."

Touka blinks (once, twice, _thrice_), and the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach wastes no time in coming back. She tries to smile, because the alternative is allowing her true feelings to seep through, but she knows it doesn't come off as well as she intended it to. The fact that Yoriko is way too perceptive for her own good doesn't help, but, well. Touka has become pretty good at ignoring things she doesn't like. "What are you suggesting?" she asks, a hint of laughter in her voice. It may or may not be an attempt at covering up her sudden hysteria, provoked by a lonely pair of shoes in the _genkan_ and an empty bedroom across her own. "You have plans with your family, Yoriko."

The family that Yoriko, blessed as she is, _has_. Touka has no right to interrupt them with whatever Yoriko is about to suggest.

"I know that," her best friend replies, huffing just a little bit and furrowing her brows together. _Concern_. Yoriko is concerned about her, which is heartwarming but also very, very bad. "But I asked my parents about it, and... Maybe you would like to come with us, Touka-chan? I know the resort is outside of Tokyo, but it'll be just for three days."

_Yes_, she wants to say, because there's this stupid little part of her (which she viciously stabs, crushes and _suffocates_, but can never truly be rid of) that doesn't want to be alone for the upteenth time. But there are so many, many reasons for which she needs to say _no_, and the fact that she might screw up and reveal her secret is just one of many. She doesn't want to think about what she'll have to do, if Yoriko ever finds out about her. She can only hope she never does.

"Ah... I'm sorry, Yoriko," she says, the lie forming on the tip of her tongue. "The boss already told me I have to work those days. Lousy old man doesn't know how to give someone a vacation."

The way Yoriko's face seems to fall almost makes her want to take it back, but she can't. She can't put Yoriko at risk like that, so she'll just have to deal with it.

"That's okay," Yoriko tells her after a moment's pause, obviously disappointed. "I understand, Touka-chan. I'll just make sure to take you out somewhere really, really special once I'm back. Let's make it a date, okay?"

Touka finds herself nodding, a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes on her face. "Yeah," she says, "Yeah... I'd like that."

And before they know it, they've reached the point where they usually go their separate ways. Under normal circumstances, this involves a few pleasant words, a smile, and a wave as Yoriko crosses the street and heads on home. Today seems to be a little bit different, though, with Yoriko hesitating for a moment—and leading Touka to do the same. She watches her best friend idly twirl her umbrella around, sending droplets of water flying everywhere, and tapping the heel of her shoe against the wet pavement. Touka doesn't quite have it in her to interrupt. Not after the conversation they had a couple of minutes ago.

"The zoo," Yoriko says, so abruptly Touka almost jolts in surprise. She's about to ask what the hell she's talking about, but her best friend beats her to the punch. "When I get back, we should go to the zoo."

The zoo sounds—_pleasant_. Maybe. Maybe not. Honestly, Touka isn't really sure what condition the animals will be in during the very end of December. Probably cold and miserable, but that could just be her projecting what she expects of her future. She can't bring herself to voice that thought, either, with the way Yoriko is looking at her expectantly. It helps that it's a stupid thought, too. It would have to be a pretty cruddy zoo, if the employees didn't take some measures to ensure the animals were all nice and comfortable during the coldest days of the month.

"If that's where you want to go... I don't mind," she says, not entirely sure of what Yoriko's train of thought must be at the moment. "It's not like I have any better ideas."

At that, Touka watches her best friend nod. "Okay," she says, head bobbing up and down, a small smile on her face. "Then it's settled. We'll go to the zoo."

They get right back to their usual routine after that. Yoriko smiles at her, bright as the sun, and looks both ways before crossing the street. The puddles of water that have accumulated at the edges of the road soak through her socks, but Touka doesn't think Yoriko minds all that much. Mostly, because she waves and calls out to her as soon as she's on the other side, a grin on her face.

"Goodbye, Touka-chan!"

And being the (_questionably_) excellent best friend she is, Touka waves right back.

* * *

The walk home is much more colder after parting ways with Yoriko.

This is probably why she ends up making a pit stop halfway there, her hands pale and numb from the winter breeze. The rain seems to have settled into a stop-and-go sort of drizzle, but that does little to raise the temperature. She thinks, vaguely, that it shouldn't be _this_ cold so early into the month, but nature seems to do whatever it pleases. The needs of those who live in the troposphere seem to matter little in the grand scheme of things. Nature is nature, after all—she thinks it will do whatever it damn well pleases, without making exceptions for anyone. That sort of thing strikes her as kind of quaint, really, in the same way that her desire to punch the annoying asshole in line in front of her is kind of quaint.

Maybe if the coffee shop thing doesn't work out in the long-run (_it won't_, not really), she should study some sort of science once she's graduates. That, or invest in a promising future where she pretends she's _not_ as short-tempered as she really is, and that people who speak so loudly on their phones are charming.

_Maybe_ she should also cut back on the internal monologue and decide on what type of coffee she's going to guzzle down before she inevitably braves the cold once again.

Sighing and rubbing her eyes in exasperation, she switches her schoolbag from her left shoulder to her right and valiantly attempts to tune out the guy in front of her. It would probably be easier if she had something else to occupy herself with while waiting, but as it is, she's kind of stuck unintentionally eavesdropping on the conversation this dumbass is having over the phone. Something unpleasant about a female coworker, from what she can gather. A _Karube-san_ or something, a passing mention of the coffee shop she's seen near the station, and then the guy goes off and starts talking about an emergency hospitalization. If she focused, she could probably make out what the person on the other end of the line is saying, but she doesn't actually care enough to do so.

She's not desperate enough. The less she knows, the better.

After what seems like an eternity, though, the guy hangs up as he makes it to the cash register and places his order. A minute and a half more, and she's the one having her order taken. There's not a lot of room for options, obvious reasons aside, but she settles on a shot of espresso—hold the cream, sugar, and anything _else_ that isn't coffee and water. The cashier gives her a funny look as she specifies that, pointing out something about the price being the same regardless of what she subtracts from her order, and Touka considers it a personal victory when she doesn't give into the slight urge to subtract her foot from the floor and add it to his face.

She takes out her phone while waiting for her order to be ready, frowning when she notices she only has less than fifty percent charge left. She wonders whether she should splurge on a newer model once the school term is over and she has no immediate expenses to take care of. That is something to think about later, though, so she busies herself by browsing through the photographs she has on her phone and deleting the ones that are either too blurry, too dark, or way too unflattering. The number of pictures she has of herself are pretty depressing next to the number of pictures she has of other things (mostly, _Yoriko_ or assignments she was allowed to photograph in order to copy later), but it's necessary.

After all, if she ever needs to disappear, it's better to have less photographic evidence than more. It'll be easier to take on a new identity if no one can compare her appearance to that of a previous identity. Hinami's ability to evade the CCG until now is proof of that, she thinks. Maybe.

_Shit_.

Her order is taking a while, she realizes, but it probably has to do more with the three customers waiting before her than actual incompetence on the employees' part. She wishes they would hurry up, though, because she can only wait for so long before she gets the urge to walk out of here and forget the fact that she's paid for her order. She's tapping her foot already, which is a bad sign where her ability to be patient is concerned, but she reminds herself of how numb her fingers still are, and how nice it'll feel to hold a warm cup of coffee for a couple of minutes before going back out there.

Two of the customers waiting before her are served in quick succession after that, for which she is relieved, but it doesn't quite stop her from drumming her fingers against the counter as she waits. The guy who was talking over the phone gives her a sidelong look, which she promptly returns, and, honestly—that's the least he deserves for speaking loudly about co-workers in a public space. He can take his sidelong look and shove it up his ass, for all she cares.

It's with that thought that she hears the door of the coffee shop open, the cold quickly seeping in during the few seconds it takes for two new customers to step in, and then—

"Ah, so that coffee shop was..."

"Yes."

"Good work, Amon-kun."

For a moment, she forgets how to breathe. It feels like her ears are stuffed with cotton, but that's silly, because there's _nothing_ in them. Not that she checks by bringing a hand up to her ears, but she knows this fact just as she recognizes the sudden dryness of her throat and the way her chest suddenly aches, as if someone has struck her in the sternum.

She knows that voice. She could recognize it anywhere. Recognize it any _time_, too. It's one of those voices that's hard to forget; the type she could hear twenty years from now, and still recognize it in the same way she recognizes it now, even as he and his partner talk in hushed tones. She recognizes the partner's voice, too, but as unpleasant as the name _Amon_ is, he's not the one who nearly ripped her arm off.

"Miss, here's your order."

Ah.

Spatial awareness is a wonderful thing, because it means that she's keenly aware of where she stands at this very moment. It means that she can't forget that she's in public, and that being in public means she can't afford to freak out unless she wants to be as dead as Ryouko. And that—_that_ is a bad thought to have, because it nearly sends her in a fit of rage and hysterics, but she forces herself to swallow any type of emotion she could be having at this very moment and plasters a smile on her face.

A human smile, of course. The type of smile a person would give to kind and polite coffee shop employees who have nothing to do with the sad, stupid life she leads, dictated by the fact she was born a ghoul and not a human.

"Thank you," she says, and then adds, for good measure: "Could I have a lid, so I can take it to go? And sugar?"

She's given both within the next five seconds, and after repeating her words of gratitude, she slaps the lid on her coffee and shoves the packets of sugar into one of the pockets of her uniform, never to be unearthed again. She wants nothing more than to avoid walking past the two CCG assholes on her way out, but seeing as they're in queue and kind of in the way to the door, it's pretty unavoidable.

When she makes it past them, her cold hands fumbling as she pushes the door open, she pretends not to feel someone staring into the back of her head.

She cannot bring herself to drink her coffee as she makes her way to Anteiku.

* * *

To her pleasant surprise, she does not find the shop burned down to the ground.

She wishes she could call the rest of what she finds _pleasant_, however.

* * *

"Come on," she whispers, fixing the wig on Hinami's head and cupping her hand between her palms. "Let's go."

(And the rest of this story is best saved for later.)


End file.
